


And Miles to Go Before I Sleep.

by FeathersOnTheLeather



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Blow Jobs, Character Death, Christmas Fluff, Dirty Talk, Drunk! Thranduil, F/M, Good Parent Bard, M/M, Making Out, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeathersOnTheLeather/pseuds/FeathersOnTheLeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard, a young bowman from Laketown meets a strange and beautiful creature while hunting within Mirkwood forest when he is  17 years old.  This story winds through the years of their relationship growing, faltering and and changing them both beyond anything they could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June 12, 2915 (Age 17)

**Author's Note:**

> I am hoping to make this into a decently long Barduil fic. Please bear with me on this journey. I'm not one for writing multi-chapter fics, but we shall see where this takes me. Keep in mind tags and rating will most likely get updated as time goes on, and more characters will be added. Thank you for taking time to read! The title of course is from the Robert Frost poem "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" which I love dearly, and seems to fit well with what I am planning on doing with this story. I want to take this up to BotFA and beyond...and I am going to try to loosely stick to canon (probably mixing PJ's movies and information from the books/Tolkien). Some things have to be altered of course to keep my plot, but I hope everyone enjoys none the less!
> 
> Update 04/03/16 - I'm not dead. Just a terrible person. I have no idea where I am supposed to go with this. I may have to start doing big jumps of time, just so I can finish. All the material I wanted to write, I have written already...this piece has given me a lot of anxiety unfortunately...all of which I have brought on myself. I went WAY to big with it. Thank you to everyone that has stuck with this. It means so, so much to me. Hopefully you all don't end up disappointed. I am going to try and salvage what I can of this, and hopefully end up writing an ending that is worthy of all your time and patience.

Bard paused at he walked into the clearing, lifting his face to the rays of sun filtering through the canopy overhead, his eyes shut, enjoying the heat. The last grips of winter seemed to have lifted and the spring mornings no longer had a winter's chill still clinging to them. The winters were sometimes harsh in Laketown, and everyone's mood seemed to lighten as the days got longer and warmer. The town always had more merchants coming in the warmer months, new people coming in and out all the time, news from distance places and gold flowing a little more freely into the hands of the townspeople that needed it.

However, business wasn't quite booming yet, and that's how Bard found himself hunting under the eaves of Mirkwood forest, a place that was considered out of bounds to pretty much everyone in Laketown. There were no laws forbidding it as such, however it was reasonably well known that the Elflord that governed the woods was cruel and quick to deal out punishment to those that were caught trespassing. The people of Laketown had a shaky partnership at best with the Elves of Mirkwood forest, doing a small bit of trade. The Elves, being mistrustful of everyone, did very little dealing with outsiders, and the only contact the men of Laketown really had was that every two weeks an exchange of some food stuffs and Dorwinion wine that old Calder would take up in his barge to meet an envoy of Elves and trade it to them for a fairly weighty payment in gold. Then any barrels the Elves had emptied were loaded back on the barge and brought to Laketown again.

Bard already had a bag with several rabbits slung over his shoulder, which wasn't much meat, but would make enough stew to keep him going for the rest of the week, maybe. This clearing was as far as he would ever let himself travel inside the forest. He knew his way in and out of this spot even if it began to grow dark, and he was always guaranteed several rabbits, and possibly a few pheasants in the time it took to go in and out. It seemed that his luck was just about spent for the day though, having not even heard anything in the past 20 minutes.

Bard sighed, rolling his shoulders and looking around the clearing. He wished he had of had more time today. When the days started to lengthen he could leave at first light and make a day of the trip. Take his time on the walk up, take a swim in the small pool in the clearing, have a lunch of some bread and cheese while the warm sun dried the water on his skin. Hunt on the way back out, and be home before dark with a bag full of game and a smile on his face. He had a late start today, having helped Asta, the older lady a few houses down clean out her eaves that morning, and if he wanted to be home before dark he would have to start heading back soon.

As he was turning to follow his path back out, Bard caught a gleam of white, almost glowing against the dark green of the forest surrounding it. He stood still as statue, barely turning his head, his eyes straining hard to see that far into his periphery. He turned slowly, painfully slow, his arm coming up to take his bow from his shoulder. There standing just inside the clearing was a doe of such pure white that Bard thought for a moment it had to be some sort Elf magic...something so pure and so clean couldn't be real. Not in a world and a forest such as this. His hand froze as he reached back towards his quiver for an arrow, and he slowly lowered himself down to one knee, lowering his bow as well. He was shocked to find his eyes welling with tears at the beauty and complete innocence of this stunning creature. He had never witnessed anything so beautiful in his 17 years on this earth.

“Why do you not fire, Bowman? I've yet to see you miss your mark.”

The voice came so suddenly and was so close behind Bard that he actually let out a yelp. He whirled around, arrow nocked before he came full turn, and was startled to see his arrow aimed at an Elf standing not six feet from him. Bard's heart was pounding, terrified that someone was able to sneak up on him that silently. He could have been dead an in instant...

The Elf however, did not seem alarmed. He was standing quite stiffly, however. Drawn up, but Bard took that to just be his demeanour. He had an air of self-importance and something almost like boredom about him. He was tall; taller than Bard who was pretty sure 6 feet was about as tall as he was going to get, not having gained any height in the past three years. Long white-blonde hair down to his waist, clad in dark green, with tall brown boots and a silver belt. Bard didn't notice any weapons, but that didn't mean the Elf didn't have any. The Bowman had often heard the it was difficult to tell male and female Elves apart, but this one was obviously male despite how stunningly beautiful his features were, all cheek bones and thick dark brows and porcelain skin. So pretty almost that Bard was shocked such a deep, commanding voice had come from this ethereal being.

“Do you plan on lowering that bow of your own accord, Laketowner? I do not take kindly to it being aimed at my face, considering you are the one who is trespassing.”

Bard lowered the bow slightly, but kept the arrow nocked. He was trembling still at the fright he had received.

“You can trust my word. If I wanted you dead, you would have been dead while your back was turned. I ask again: please lower your bow.”

Bard stared hard at the Elf for a few more moments, then finally lowered his bow completely, exhaling the breath he did not even realize he was holding. The Elf was staring past Bard's left shoulder, piercing blue eyes focused hard on something. Bard turned his head ever so slightly and was surprised to see the white doe still standing in the clearing. He was also surprised to see the Elf make a gesture with his hand, head bowing slightly, eyes closed and the doe visibly relaxed, lowering her head finally to eat the clover growing on the forest floor.

“I must ask again, Bowman. Why did you not shoot the doe?” The Elf's dazzling eyes locked onto Bard's and the Bowman found himself struggling to speak. He knew if he were to find the words, his voice would be shaking. “Sorry...are you mute?”

“No.” Bard replied, his voice coming out much higher than normal. He cleared his throat and tried again. “No. Just shaken from being snuck up on.”

“I do not sneak, Bowman. It is not my fault you allow yourself to become so easily distracted that one can walk up right behind you in broad daylight in a clearing. Which brings me to the question of why you are here at all?”

“Hunting would be the obvious answer to that, I suppose.”

The Elf's eyes flashed a little at the Bowman's cheek."Yes, I can see that, but why to these woods in particular? There are other woods surrounding your town, ones that are much less perilous than this. These woods are lovely, of course; dark and deep, and full of game but also full of hidden dangers that normally keep Men from wandering in here. Even with you, as often as you come, I am surprised you have escaped danger so many times.”

“You've been spying on me?”

The Elf chuckled, a deep and charming sound. None of the light from the laughter seemed to reach his eyes, however. “Spying? Do you forget where you are, Bowman? You are in the Great Greenwood and the King does not take kindly to thieves and trespassers. Especially ones who come as often and as brazenly as you.” He gestured towards the snowy doe. “If I had of not stopped you from taking down your quarry, that would have been the last arrow you ever loosed.”

“I had no intentions of shooting that doe.”

“Your bow was drawn, was it not?”

“Aye, it was drawn before I turned and saw it.”

“A doe her size would feed your family for many of weeks, no doubt?”

“Aye, she would. Even longer than that, as it is just myself. But no, I would not have shot a creature such as that. Not if I was starving. It would seem folly, to take something so beautiful and pure for ones own selfish needs.” Bard realized his cheeks were blazing, unsure as to why he was saying such things out loud, and so candidly.

The elf observed him, eyes sparkling, face still grim. He took his time studying the Man from top to bottom, Bard's face getting hotter and hotter under such hard scrutiny. He wasn't sure what the Elf was looking for, but strangely found himself hoping he liked what he saw...

“What is your name, Bowman?”

“Bard.”

“Bard.” The Elf said, his lovely dark voice making something stir in Bard's stomach at the sound of his name coming from those lovely lips. Bard swallowed hard. That train of thought needed to come to an end and fast.

“And yourself?”

The Elf just smiled, ignoring the question. “You still never answered my question.”

“Nor you mine.”

“You're the trespasser and the thief. I'm not obligated to answer your questions.”

“Thief? You keep saying that.”

“Well that's what you are, if it not? Taking things that aren't yours?”

“The game is not anyone’s. The Elfking doesn't own the birds and the beasts in this forest. They are any man's to take as they need”

“That is where you are wrong, Bard. The King of the Woodland Realm holds dominion over all things that dwell in the great Greenwood. Beasts, Birds, Elves...they are all governed by him. Well, perhaps not all things, but you've been fortunate enough so far not to encounter anything fell while under our eaves.”

“You can have these back than, if you like.” Bard said, throwing the bag containing the rabbits so they landed at the feet of the Elf. The Elf raised an eyebrow at the Bowman. “ It's getting too late for me to be hassled any more. It will be dark sooner than I would like, and I am weary, with miles to go before I sleep. Tell your King I had assumed that since I was not taking more than I need, and not disturbing anyone, that I could be spared a few rabbits so that I would not starve. I'll go hungry before I'll beg to hunt on lands that should belong to all men, not some cloistered Elfking who I'm sure eats far better fare than a few skinny rabbits.” At that, Bard shouldered his bow, breezing past the Elf without another glance, nor making a move to retrieve his bag of game.

“Til we meet again, Bowman...”

Bard stiffened, yet still didn't look back, pretending not to hear the parting words the Elf had spoken.

It was almost too dark to see by the time Bard came upon the lights of Laketown. He climbed into his small skiff, polling his way through routes that he knew well enough he could of done it in the pitch black. He was tired, and so hungry he almost felt sick. Damn that pointy eared bastard. He had been in those woods countless times since he was old enough to shoot a bow and not once had seen another person, let alone been bothered by anyone. The Elf's words floated back to him though, speaking of him having been there many times. The hair on the back of Bard's neck stood up a little bit at the thought of how many times he had been watched in that forest. Good lord, he had bathed in the pool in that clearing!

Ashamed as he would be to admit it, as Bard docked his skiff outside his house and climbed out, he was still feeling a little hot in the cheeks thinking about the possibility of the Elf with the stunning eyes and the deep voice having watched him bathe..on more than one occasion perhaps. Bard was a little confused at these thoughts...he had never desired to lay with a man. That wasn't something that was generally looked very kindly upon. It happened, but it was a well known fact that most folks did not think it appropriate. A man should have a wife. A man should have children. Bard could of course appreciate a beautiful face, which was something the Elf most certainly had. Perhaps it was fine in Elven culture for males to lay with males...he didn't know enough about them to know anything such as that. The idea of it may be able to tire him out a little before bed perhaps...The Bowman was still so wrapped up in his daydreams that he tripped over something just inside his front door and almost went sprawling on the floor.

“What the hell?” He threw his bow onto the table, hand searching over the wooden surface looking for match to get a damn lantern lit and see what was on his floor. Finally getting some light in the room, he was shocked to see a small woven basket, covered in a cloth sitting in the entrance. He eyed it suspiciously, as he picked it up and put in on the table. He pulled back the cloth tentatively, to find cheese, bread and some cold meats inside. He shook his head. “Asta, you sneak.” He said with a chuckle. He had told his elderly neighbour he hadn't wanted anything in return for the work he had done that morning. Obviously, she hadn't listened.

Bard began pulling everything out of the basket with a grin on his face. He was shocked to see how much food actually was in there, finding grapes and pears as well, and feeling guilty that Asta had given him so much, and especially fruits; which were expensive. He reached into the basket one last time to make sure he had gotten everything, and was surprised when his fingers grazed something round and smooth at the bottom. His mouth hung open as he pulled out a perfectly round bottle of wine, with a neat, handwritten label. Bard was a little terrified at the thought of there having been a stranger in his house, but he couldn't help but smile shyly as he rubbed his thumb over the label and realizing where it must have come from, seeing as the label was written in Elvish.


	2. August 16, 2915

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even against his own better judgement, Bard ventures back to Mirkwood forest, and cannot claim to even understand his own motives for going back. Although part of it is to see that beautiful Elven creature once more...

Bard managed to hold on for a month and a half before he went back to Mirkwood forest. He had tonnes of distractions mind you, loads of things to keep his mind from wandering back to that day in the clearing but the days were long and hot, and sometimes the nights were the same and those beautiful blue eyes were always on his mind.

Laketown was always bustling in the summer months. It would never reach it's full splendour as in the days of old, however. The possibility of a dragon seemed to keep many away, although, at times, it had the opposite effect and people would come into town for trade but the whole time their eyes were focused on that distant peak. Bard didn't know if Smaug was in there or not...all had been quiet for years beyond memory but the birds did not return there, and no one he had ever heard of was brave enough (or crazy enough) to venture in there to see for themselves.

The day was hot before the sun had even come up. Bard had gone to bed having decided that since he had absolutely nothing on the agenda for the following day that he would pack some food, grab his bow and head up the river for a bit. He was taking his bow strictly for protection, of course. If he saw a pheasant or something he couldn't pass up he would bag it, but he had no intention of drawing his bow underneath the eaves of Mirkwood forest. That meant his intentions couldn't be questioned, he hoped. Although, it had been made quite clear to him by the Elf he had met that trespassing was frowned upon as well, but it seemed the bigger problem had been the alleged stealing. Hopefully he was not about to get killed over a pair of pretty blue eyes.

The sun had been up for about an hour when Bard headed out his door, his pack with some food and his bow and quiver slung over his back. He was way more eager than he liked to admit. As much as he wanted to tell himself he was just enthused to finally have a day off to do as he wished, he knew the real reason for his boyish excitement.

The Bowman bounded down the stairs, and rounded the corner of his house so fast he slammed full on into Frida, one of the seamstress’ daughters, and knocked some of the bolts of fabric from her arms.

She cried in alarm, and then blushed slightly when she realized who it was who had come barrelling into her. “Oh Bard, good morning,” she said, eyes downcast as she stooped to pick of her fabric.

“Damn, Frida, I'm so sorry!” Bard stooped as well to help the girl. “I didn't see you there! Here let me help...”

“Where are you off too in such a rush?”

It was Bard's turn to blush a little. He didn't think 'to hopefully meet up with that gorgeous male Elf I met a few months back' would be an appropriate or well received answer. “To try and get some hunting in” is what he decided to go with.

“Today is supposed to be a hot one. I thought perhaps we'd see you at the swimming spot later on...”

Bard took pause at the hope in the girl's voice. He lifted his eyes to meet her lovely green ones, and she blushed even harder and stood up quickly.

“Of course, if you're not too busy, I mean.” Frida stammered.

Bard stood up as well, handing her the bolt he was still holding. “I would love to, Frida. However today is the first day in a long time I haven't had any work, and with the day being so nice...”

"Oh no, it's fine.” she said quickly. “I just thought it would be fun, is all. You're always working so hard...I thought maybe you could use some fun...”

Yes. Bard could indeed use some fun. His heart (and loins, honestly) much desired to see Frida in swimming attire. He had always liked Frida, and she had always been a pretty girl, but this last spring she seemed to blossom into a woman over night, and Bard had definitely noticed. He had thought much through the spring months about courting her...Frida's mother adored him, and he believed the girl's father to be fond of him as well. He had helped the man many of times, as his arthritis prevented him from doing some of the tasks he used to. Him and Frida had held hands once, as he had walked her home one evening after a dance, but that was as far as anything progressed. Why did this have to fall into his lap today?

“I'm sorry, Frida...but another afternoon for sure if I don't have any work...”

“Yes, of course. It's fine.” She smiled at him sweetly, and he felt his heart flutter a little. He was crazy. Absolutely nuts. He should just stay here and go swimming with this lovely creature..."I really must get going, Bard. Mother will be waiting on me...”

“Oh yes, of course!” He replied, the spell broken. “I hope I didn't get too much dirt on anything...you're mother will tan my hide!”

Frida giggled. “No, not Ma. She likes you too much. I'm sure you could do no wrong in her eyes.”

“I'll have to keep that in mind,” Bard replied with a wink.

Frida blushed to her hair and ducked her head. “Good day, Bard.”

“Good day, Frida.”

Bard stood for a moment and watched Frida as she rushed off. He was mad for not spending the afternoon with that girl. He'd have to make it up to her. However he had already decided to go on this venture today, and if he didn't do it he was afraid he would lose his nerve again and it would be another month or more. Bard sighed, adjusting the load on his back and finally headed on his way.

He took his time walking along the river, pausing to admire the scenery, taking time to watch some deer drinking on the other side, time to drag his feet and stall and take as long possible to reach the entrance to the path he normally followed into Mirkwood, because as much as he was thrilled at the possibility of seeing that blonde Elf again, part of him was terrified he'd be shot on sight. The Elf had said 'until we meet again' and did that not imply he expected for Bard to come back? However, it very well have meant 'You are a Man. You are daft. You'll wander back into this wood even though I warned you and then we'll shoot you cause you're an idiot.' It was 50/50, really...

He hesitated at the beginning to the path, his bow was still hanging across his back. He had not drawn it at all during his journey. He frowned. Maybe he should not have brought it at all? These woods were dangerous though...they couldn't expect him to not carry his bow? Granted, they expected him not to be in here at all, so he was unsure if they would care if he had it or not...Bard took a deep breath and entered the forest.

It was not an overly long path to Bard's clearing, but it was always slightly nerve-racking, although Bard would never admit it. There had been tales in town for years of the dark and twisted things that lived in Mirkwood forest, however in all Bard's time travelling into it to hunt he hadn't seen anything terrifying (well, there had been that one incident with a very large and over protective mother bear, but that was hardly anything “unnatural” and had been his own fault). It was easy to assume the legends of the terrible things in Mirkwood were the product of over-active imaginations, or a product of the Elves in order to keep trespassers from their realm.

Stepping into his clearing was like a whole different world. The sun streamed through the canopy, and everything seemed green and thriving when a blackness seemed to be creeping over the rest of the forest. There was a lovely clear pool that seemed to well up from deep in the ground somewhere and the water was always warm, even during the Spring and Fall when one wouldn't even think of getting into water anywhere else. Like the rest of the forest the trees were tall and had a feel of great age about them. The clearing was quiet today. No sign of the white doe, no sign of game, no sign of the Elf.

Bard tentatively wandered a little further into the glade, almost half expecting an arrow to come whizzing out of the trees. No arrow came. Nobody came. Bard strolled aimlessly towards the pool, whistling casually (and a little loudly, to be honest), and trailed his fingers along the surface. The water was wonderfully warm and the wicked thought of just stripping down and climbing in came to mind. Perhaps then the Elf would come? He let his mind wander, thinking about the Elf showing up while he was nude, lounging in the pool. Would he join him? Would he bed an Elf right here on the forest floor? Would he be thrown wet and naked out of Mirkwood?

Honestly, all these thoughts made his loins stir. Granted, he was but 17 and pretty much everything made his loins stir. Even the thought of being manhandled roughly while nude and dripping just to be thrown out of the forest was appealing. Why did the Elf not come? Bard didn't figure he would even make it this far in to the woods without being accosted, but maybe the Elves (sadly) had more important things to do today besides harass him. He decided he would in fact take a dip in the pool, then maybe have his lunch. But first, he needed to relieve himself. Bard sat down his bow and bag, and then walked a few steps towards a large oak tree. He stood facing it, unlaced his breeches and began to drain his bladder.

“You realize simply marking territory doesn't actually make it yours?”

Bard cursed, leaning more towards the tree maintain his privacy, and looked back over his shoulder, knowing already who he would see. “Seriously? I've been here a damn hour or more and this is when you choose to show up?”

The Elf smirked. “Were you hoping to see me?”

“Expected to, I suppose.” Bard replied, finishing his business. He turned from the oak, still lacing up his breeches. “I am not sure 'hoping” is the appropriate word.”

The Elf was sitting on a rock at the edge of the pool, trailing his fingers absently across the surface as he gazed at Bard. “If you weren't hoping, excuse me, _expecting_ to see me why do you come? You're not hunting. You haven't drawn your bow nor were you tracking anything since you entered the forest.”

Bard smiled coyly. “You've been watching me since I entered?”

“It's my job to know what goes on within the borders of my land.”

"Only you? Or is there a hundred other Elves waiting out of sight?”

“Not a hundred,” the Elf said, humour in his eyes.

Bard glanced around somewhat anxiously. He assumed guards would go out in at least pairs. It was strange to him for this Elf to be out twice by himself. He took another quick scan of the clearing, then seated himself on a stone next to the Elf. “What is your name?”

“Why are you back, Bowman? After I warned you last time...”

“You have a habit of not answering questions.”

“You have a habit of not heeding warnings.”

“You said last time 'til next we meet' or something to that effect. I assumed you were hoping to see me again.”

The Elf stared at him with those startling blue eyes. “Hoping may not be the appropriate word.”

Bard laughed. The Elf did not. “But seriously, I've told you my name. The least you could do is share yours.”

The Elf continued to trail his fingers over the water. Bard waited, deciding he wouldn't say anything else until the Elf answered his question. The minutes stretched on for what seemed like an eternity, with the Elf not answering and Bard beginning to fidget.

“My name is not important.” The Elf finally answered quietly. The shocking blue eyes met Bard's once again. Maybe blue wasn't the right colour to name them. Silver? Some strange and stunning mix of the two, really...“Did you really come here with hopes to see me?”

Bard blushed hard, at the question and at possibly having gotten caught getting lost in those eyes. “Well, I really came cause I have a day off for once and I like to come to this clearing." Bard replied, waiting to see if the Elf gave a reaction. He did not. “Also, I wanted to thank you for your gift.”

The Elf's face did not change in the least. Bard was having a difficult time reading him. Was he flirting? Did he know Bard was flirting? Was he angry Bard was here at all? He could glean nothing from this stunning creature.

“You are welcome, Bowman. I wish I could say I delivered it myself. I was called away on other business, but I thought since I held you up past dark I should not deny you your supper.”

"Well I really do appreciate it. It's better than I have eaten in a long time.”

“Why is that? Laketown is prosperous. Your trade is normally booming.”

“Aye, but just because the town is thriving doesn't mean all her people are thriving. The master is thriving, however. Don't make any mistake about that.”

The Elf furrowed his impressive brow. “That's no way to rule.”

Bard chuckled. “It often seems it's people who have no idea how to rule that end up ruling, sadly. You must understand that all too well.”

The Elf looked at him sharply. “How do you mean?”

“Your King. He seems...cruel. From all I have heard of him at least. Cold and quick to judge.” He nudged the Elf with his elbow. “Won't even let a poor Laketowner have a couple rabbits for his supper.”

The Elf smiled, almost sadly. “The King...yes, he is cold. I wouldn't think him cruel, I suppose. He is protective. Fiercely so. Of his land, and his people and kin...when you have lived for thousands of years and experienced innumerable losses you tend to become a little colder...a little more distant.”

Bard studied the Elf's profile. He was stunning. Made of marble and gold and the loveliest thing Bard had ever seen. He wanted desperately to brush his knuckles across that alabaster cheek...lace his tanned and rough fingers thorough those delicate ones...he held back the urge. “How old are you?”

The Elf smiled, and shook his head slightly. “Why does it matter?”

“I'm just curious.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Bard barked out a laugh. “That's a loaded question, as I have come to learn. You have obviously seen many years...you seem wise, and weary some how. But you look only young. Maybe about 30, in years of Man I would say. How old do you think I am?”

The Elf turned his head slightly, studying the Bowman intently. “It's hard to tell with Men. The very old and the very young are distinguishable to me. All the middle seems to run together, however. You look like a full grown man, in stature and face, yet you act and speak quickly, and without thinking...much like a child.”

Bard laughed. “That is quite accurate, I suppose. I'm 17.”

“That is hardly more than a child in your world, is it not?”

Bard grimaced. “I am hardly a child! I've been own my own for two years now, and been working since I was big enough to swing a hammer. Most men are married by my age!”

“And are you married, bowman?”

“No...no I'm not. And yourself?”

The Elf looked sad again for an instant, then it was gone. “No. I'm not married.”

“That shocks me.”

“Shocks you? What do you mean?”

Bard had experienced a sudden surge of braveness at hearing that the Elf was unattached, but that bravery died quickly on his tongue. What was he doing? The Elf thought him a child. Not to mention he was a man, both in race and gender. Did Elves even allow that? He was being ridiculous. This was a dangerous path to be going down which could lead to him getting his throat cut in the woods. But what if...

“Because you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” Bard stuttered out.

The Elf turned slowly to look at Bard, those icy eyes unblinking. “You think me beautiful?”

“Well, perhaps beautiful is not the appropriate word. I meant no offence. Males in my world don't normally take kindly to being called beautiful...but I am unsure if I have another word that would do you justice. You're beautiful. Stunning. Perfect.”

“Do you normally speak to other males in such a way?"

“No. Men I know don't look like you.”

“You know nothing about me, bowman. I'm a thousand years older than you...”

“Which just translates to more experience.” Bard replied coyly.

The Elf gazed at him, eyes half lidded. Bard was painfully aware of how close they were to each other. If he shifted his leg slightly, their thighs would touch...if he shifted even further their lips could touch. We wanted to touch every inch of that marble skin. Would it feel as cold as he imagined? Could his touch make it burn hot?

“You have cheek, Bard.” The Elf said, his voice low.

“Aye, I do. Do you not approve?”

“I never said that.” The Elf's eyes kept darting to Bard's lips, and Bard was painfully aware of how hard his erection was throbbing. He just wanted that mouth on his. That mouth on him. “What brought you here today. Tell me.”

“Really, I just wanted a swim.” Bard said, pressing his luck a little further. He grinned at the Elf.

"Well, that is truly a pity.” the Elf rasped, bringing his gorgeous face in towards Bard's neck, his words and his breath ghosting over Bard's skin. Bard almost moaned. Craning his neck to give the Elf access. “To think I could of found you in an even more compromising position...” Bard felt those full lips just brushing over his skin...

“Hîr vuin?”

The Elf was away from Bard and halfway across the clearing before Bard could even react to the other voice. He looked up in shock to see another Elf, one that bared a striking resemblance to the Elf he had just been speaking with. Surprisingly his friend looked flustered, and the shorter Elf was staring at Bard, his gaze burning holes into the Bowman. The two Elves were conversing fast and almost angrily in Elvish. Bard fought the urge to grab his things and bolt from this clearing. He got the impression the other Elf (and the several more he could see just beyond the edge of the clearing) did not think he should be there, and for once Bard agreed. The Bowman quickly grabbed his things, and as he stood up to swing the bow over his shoulder, his Elven friend appeared in front of him.

“I'm sorry, you must go.”

“Yeah, I got that impression.”

“I made a mistake in allowing you to tarry here. You must leave immediately. Farewell, Bowman.”

Bard was confused, and felt a little panic at those words. “Farewell, but can't you...I mean, I thought...”

“Whatever you thought, you misunderstood. Leave, Laketowner. I won't tell you again.”

Bard stared indignantly at the Elf. “You're really something. Maybe it's not just your King, maybe being a bastard is just a racial trait.”

With that, Bard whirled around and stalked out of the clearing. He was a damn idiot. What did he think was going to happen? He should not have come back in the first place. He was warned. He was young and he was foolish and had let a pretty face get the best of his judgement. He felt sick to his stomach. Both from hunger and embarrassment. He should of gone with Frida this morning. He should of stayed in Town. Damn him for being so naive. He swore he'd starve before set foot in those woods again.

Bard kept that promise. It was four long years before he came face to face with that Elf again.


	3. September 7, 2919 (Age 21)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been 4 years from that day in the woods, and Bard has a big day ahead of him tomorrow. Life has been wonderful, and Bard has found happiness in Frida, but then a face from the past throws his heart and thoughts into turmoil.

Bard was standing very impatiently on the front steps of Frida's parents house. The day was fading into twilight and her and her sister should have been back long ago. Frida's mother had poked her head out several times and asked if was really sure if he wouldn't rather wait inside, and he had turned down the offer yet again. Thirty more minutes, he had told himself. Thirty more minutes and he would go look for them himself.

Tomorrow was finally the day Bard would take Frida as his wife. The courting process had drug on a little longer than normal, honestly. Bard knew he had feelings for the girl, and knew she returned it. He was a simple man though. He didn't have a lot of coin, he had no family, he worked himself to death from dawn til dusk every day to fall asleep early in his chair. Frida had made it clear to him years ago she would be more than happy to be his wife, and he was sure she would make him very happy. He was just unsure if he could do the same for her.

He heard Frida and her sister Sylvi before he saw them. Bard straightened up from where he had been leaning with his elbows on the railing, trying to put on a stern face although he was much relieved to see the girls. They were talking a mile a minute and not even looking in his direction, both lugging huge baskets of flowers for decoration in the ceremony tomorrow.

“And where have you ladies been?” Bard called out, coming down to the bottom of the stairs. Their giggling cut off quickly, but Frida's face lit up when she saw her husband to be.

“Isn't it obvious?” Frida said, with a cheeky grin as she walked up to Bard. She nodded to the basket she carried “Or did you forget you're getting married tomorrow?”

“How could I forget?” He laughed, taking her basket and giving her a swift kiss on the cheek. Frida blushed fiercely and Sylvi rolled her eyes.

“Oh don't start this." Sylvi moaned. "Bard, bring those in the house. If it gets cold tonight they will wilt and then they'll look awful and your wedding will be ruined.”

“Nothing could ruin tomorrow, Sylvi.” He said, giving her a nudge. "Except the prospect of having you as a sister now.”

“Bard!” Frida cried, laughing as she slapped his arm. 'That's not very nice!” Sylvi stuck her tongue out at Bard and he just chuckled. “We should get inside though! These need to be put in water and Ma will be wanting to have dinner. You're staying, aren't you?”

“Of course!” he said, following her up the steps. “You still never said what held you two up though...”

The two sisters exchanged a look and giggled. “I'll tell you after supper, love.” Frida replied. With that the three of them entered the house

It was well after dark when Frida's mother put her foot down and kicked Bard out. Since him and Frida weren't married yet, they still needed a chaperone when spending time together, and since Bard lived on his own he often found himself spending every spare moment at Frida's house. Her parents were lovely, and adored Bard. They were even afforded some degree of privacy (which young couples didn't normally get). They were allowed sometimes to go for walks with just Sylvi as a chaperone, which wasn't strictly within the rules, since she was younger than them. Sylvi was also a gem for wandering a little bit away and burying her nose in a book and leaving the two lovebirds to do as they will (and what they willed wasn't much, sadly. Frida insisted on waiting til their wedding night, and Bard was behaving as best he could).

This evening Sylvi as usual accompanied Bard and Frida outside to say their good-nights, and Bard was anxious to hear their story about what had held them up.

“It's after supper! Out with it you two!”

“Frida doesn't know if we should tell you.” Sylvi teased. “She's worried you may get jealous.”

“Oh really?” He said, casting a sideways glance at his soon-to-be wife. "And why would that be?”

“I never said that!” Frida protested at the same time Sylvi said:

“Cause he was GORGEOUS!”

“Wait,” Bard said, holding a hand up. “Who was gorgeous? How about we start at the first maybe?”

“We went picking flowers,” Frida started. “We went down along the river to the spot where all those wild flowers grow. That huge field on the left before the river forks.”

“Yes, I know where. You two had to take your father's boat. That's why I was so damned worried you were so late.” Bard said sternly. Eye roll again from Sylvi. Frida continued:

“Well, we pulled the boat up and unloaded our baskets, and went to work. We were chatting about the wedding and whatnot...I had my back to Sylvi, and we were just picking away. I was closer to the woods, and then I heard a noise and...”

“It was an Elf!” Sylvi cried, obviously not able to contain her excitement any longer.

Bard stared from one girl to the other. “An Elf?” he said quietly. “How close were you to the forest?”

“No closer than anyone ever goes.” Sylvi replied, her brow furrowed. “Stop being such a mother hen and let her tell the story! We met an ELF. A real, actual ELF! Do you know how many people from Laketown have met an ELF?”

“Shhhh, Sylvi!” Frida chided. “Let me finish!” She turned her attention back to Bard. “He startled me, of course. They really are as silent as people say! And I let out a little cry and kind of jumped...”

“And I heard her and looked up.” Sylvi interrupted. “I didn't run over or anything...it's not like I thought he was gonna hurt her. We were nowhere near close enough to the wood to cause any problems...”

“He looked almost as surprised . Imagine! Us surprising an Elf! He just stood there..like studying me almost. His eyes were almost other-wordly, and quite unnerving to be honest...”

“It's like he was looking right into your soul!” Sylvi gushed with a sigh.

Bard felt a lump growing in his throat, and tried to keep his face neutral. There was no way...it had to be coincidence. What were the chances that it would be the same Elf...it couldn't be. They all looked like beings not of this world. They were all beautiful...

“Did he speak?” Bard asked quietly.

“Yes, he asked what all the flowers were for.” Frida replied. “And I said for my wedding, for I was to marry Bard, son of Ballard on the morrow.”

“His voice was gorgeous!” Sylvi swooned.

“You just told him this freely?” Bard said.

“Why yes, of course? Am I not to be excited about my own wedding?”

“Did he say anything more?”

“Nothing of importance...asked who we were, our parents...Like I said, we seemed to have startled him as much as he did us. I assume he was out patrolling and didn't expect to stumble on two human girls so close to nightfall”

“Well I'm not sure he was patrolling...”Sylvi interjected.

“What do you mean?” Bard asked.

"Well, he gave us a bottle of wine, which he had been carrying with him. So I feel like he wasn't on duty.”

“He gave you wine?”

“Yes, it's in the house. Does that concern you? ”

Bard frowned. “A little. The whole thing is just...odd.”

“It is, yes. But darling, no harm was done! He wished us well, he gave us a gift, and that was it! It was just happenstance we stumbled upon him, or him upon us, as it were. The wine may not have been intended for us, but it is Dorwinion and he decided to gift it to us. Whatever the case, it shall make tomorrow night even more enjoyable.” Frida said, with a wicked little grin.

Sylvi groaned. “Stop you two! If you continue with such talk I shall go find myself that tall, blonde Elf and make a husband of him! Maybe he'll take me away from all this...”

“Please Sylvi, go!” Frida said with a laugh. “He'd be the first Elf to wish he was a mortal after dealing with you!”

Sylvi stuck her tongue out at her sister. “He'd be happy to have me! He looked like he could use some fun.”

“Actually that is true...” Frida said with a little frown. “He did look sad...”

Before Bard had much time to absorb all this, the front door flew open to reveal the girl's mother standing there still in her apron.

“BARD!” She hollered. “Did I not kick you out half an hour ago? That bride of yours needs to get off to bed or she'll look like a raccoon tomorrow!”

“Mother!” Frida, cried, horrified.

Bard laughed. “Yes, ma'am! I was just taking my leave now!” He swept in and planted a quick kiss on Frida's cheek. “Good night, my love.” He said quietly. “You'll look beautiful tomorrow, no matter what.”

“Bard!” Another warning from the front door.

“Yes! Going! Good night!” he called, dashing off before he could get yelled at again. It was late after all. He had a big day tomorrow.

Despite going home and going to bed immediately, Bard was still laying awake hours later. Some of it was nerves about tomorrow...would everything go well? Would it be perfect for Frida? Would he remember everything he was supposed to say? He didn't understand why it had to be such a big affair...with the whole damn town there and getting dressed up and what not...he just wanted her to be his wife, and to secret her away to the home they would now share together now. Finally be blissfully and truly alone together.

Another part of his mind was stuck on the story the sisters had told him earlier. He knew he shouldn't be dwelling on this...not after all this time, not on his wedding night especially. That day in the woods was burned into his memory and had been fuel to relieve himself on many a lonely night...but there was no reason to even think it had been the same Elf...HIS Elf...

Aye, but what if it was? The way he looked...the Dorwinion wine...it all seemed too much to be coincidence. It was just so strange for an Elf to be out on patrol so close to town...and the wine...Bard's stomach lurched. No...no, the Elf couldn't have been coming to see him? Not after all this time...it just all didn't add up. It was making Bard's head spin. But by the gods, part of him wished it was the case...ached at the thought that the Elf could be thinking of Bard...wanting to see him. The night before his wedding, at that...

Bard took a deep breath. Don't go down this road. These thoughts were dangerous. He was to be married in the morning to a beautiful girl he loved deeply and he shouldn't be laying here longing for something that never was and never would be. The piece of the story that stuck in his mind, that kept worrying at him was Sylvi saying he looked sad...Why had the Elf looked sad? Because Bard was to marry? The Bowman felt a surge of hot anger in his stomach. That bastard had no right...no right at all the show up now. Was this meant to torture Bard? Had it been a chance meeting, or had the Elf meant to speak with Frida on tonight of all nights...why after all this time show back up out of the woods like a dream and throw his life into turmoil. Not now. Not tonight. Bard had to let it go. Anything that could have been was long gone and as much as it weighed on his mind, he couldn't let this eat at him, and must get some rest for the morning was coming too quickly, and he had promises to keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went in a little different of a direction than I had originally planned, and hopefully is still enjoyable to you guys. It's not my favourite that I have written, but it was a chapter that NEEDED to be written, I feel. I hope you like :)


	4. November 23, 2920 (Age 22)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard takes up a contract delivering barrels to the Woodland Realm to help support his growing family, and he learns everything is not as it seems in Mirkwood forest.

It had been a full two weeks before Frida had convinced Bard her and Sigrid would survive if he were gone for a whole day. His beautiful, sweet, perfect little daughter had come into the world on November the 9th at 3:00 in the afternoon and he had never seen anything so perfect in his whole life. He had barely put her down at all those first two days, only to give her to her mother to be fed. He even slept with the tiny babe on his chest, the beat of his heart lulling her to sleep.

Of course he had gone out and worked during those first two weeks, he had to pick up even more jobs now that his family was growing. He also had the good fortune of taking over the deliveries to and from Mirkwood forest from Calder, who was having a hard enough time with his hip as it was without climbing in and out of his barge and being out in the cold and damp all day in the winter months. The job wasn't a frequent one, just being one day every two weeks. The pay was good though, even with him giving Calder a small cut for allowing Bard to keep using the older man's barge.

Today was to be Bard's first day as bargeman, and he was shockingly nervous. One, he was worried being away all day from his wife and new little girl. It was a whole days work with the trip up, unloading and loading the barrels there, the trip back and the unload back in Laketown. Bard really didn't want to be so far away all day, but his sister-in-law Sylvi had pretty much not left their home since Sigrid had been born, but even knowing she'd be there to help, he still felt unease.

Calder had told him that the Elf King would want to meet with him, for Lord Thranduil liked to know who he was dealing with when it came to goods and services provided to Mirkwood. Calder had met with the King roughly a month prior, explaining that he could not continue with the work any longer, but he had found a reliable and much younger man from the town who needed extra income for his young family, and the Elf Lord had asked him to inform Bard he would meet with him on his first day. Calder had been doing this job for the better part of 30 years, and the Lord Thranduil had been sad to see him go, and had paid him a hearty parting wage that would help keep Calder and his wife comfortable for years to come.

Bard had been told by Calder there were always a couple Elves at the dock to help with and oversee the loading and unloading, which was fine, but he was quite nervous to be meeting with King Thranduil. The only real “Ruler” that Bard had ever dealt with was the Master of Laketown, who was an utter joke. To meet an actual ruler of an actual kingdom was a bit scary for Bard. Also he couldn't help but wonder...would HE be there...?

Bard pushed that thought from his head, and gathered his bow and his bag with his lunch and headed quietly out the front door. He had already said a quiet goodbye to Frida in their bedroom. She was half asleep with baby Sigrid nestled soundly in her arms. He also took a peek at Sylvi, who was snoring away in her bedroll on the living area floor. He'd never tell her, but he really appreciated all her help the last few weeks, and there had been a couple days he hadn't been sure what he could of done without her.

It was just barely light outside when Bard headed out his front door, and cold as well. It would warm up as the day went on, but not a whole lot, and it would only get worse at winter stretched out. Once he got moving on the river though, polling the barge would keep him warm, and also the work with the barrels. He wondered again about the meeting with King Thranduil...would they meet on the river side? Would be be escorted to the actual throne of the King? Would he catch a glimpse of that beautiful Elf once again...?

“Get it together” Bard muttered to himself, climbing into the barge and getting everything at the ready. It was still fairly quiet this time of the morning...most people had already started their work day, the others still in bed. He, however, couldn't start his day until it was light. The trip would be much to dangerous in the dark. Plus he had heard the Elf King did not like to meet early in the morning. Apparently he liked his wine. He believed it too, considering the amount of it that got shipped to the Woodland Realm. The only time Bard had drank Dorwinion was on his wedding night, and it had knocked him on his ass so hard he almost didn't get to consummate his union with his wife.

The trip up the river was an uneventful one and Bard let his mind wonder back to that night Frida and her sister had seen the Elf...the day before their wedding. It was sure it had to be the one he had met those years before in the forest. What business would another scout have that close to Laketown, all alone at that, carrying a bottle of wine? The Elf had obviously been coming to see Bard. He often wondered about the what ifs... what if the Elf had of made it to his home that night? What if they had of drunk that wine together? Had the Elf been on his way with the intention of finishing what had been started that day in the clearing? Bard would have refused, of course. He was set to marry. He could never have done that to Frida. But what if...

He was snapped out of his reverie as his barge clipped a large rock. He steadied himself, mentally scolding himself for daydreaming. Guessing by the sun, had to be close to two hours into his journey, which meant it was almost at an end. His stomach lurched a little bit, still nervous about the meeting, and he pushed the barge more towards the opposite side of the river, and hoping this wouldn't be as awful as he was dreading.

Bard finally rounded the large bend in the river that marked when the Elven dock was approaching. As he poled his barge in towards the shore, several Elves appeared from the woods path to greet him. Two males with dark hair, and a female with long red hair. Bard docked the barge while they looked on, and then stood awkwardly on the dock, unsure of what to do next.

“Hail, bargeman.” It was the female who spoke, “I am Tauriel, Captain of the Guard of Greenwood, in service to King Thranduil, son of Oropher.”

“Bard, son of Ballard.” Bard replied, inclining his head slightly in an extremely awkward attempt at a bow.

“I trust you were informed of King Thranduil's desire to meet with you?”

“Yes, my...lady. I was.”

“We will have to take your bow and quiver, of course...”

“Oh...ummm, right.” Bard handed his gear to the dark haired Elf that approached him. "Are we to go to the halls of the Woodland Realm...?”

“Nay, they have prepared a small lunch at what used to be a guard post just within the forest, if that is to your liking?”

“Oh, yes, Ahh, of course. Lead on.”

Bard felt so uncomfortable and so completely out of his element. He was thankful however that he wasn't expected to meet with the King in what he assumed would be a great, lavish throne room. He smiled a little to himself realizing this was his first time actually being invited into Mirkwood, even if he was a little apprehensive to be without his bow.

The Elves were quiet as they walked, and he studied them as slyly as he could. All three were beautiful creatures, and he decided it wasn't hard as people had said to tell males from females, although beautiful was really the only way to describe both genders. He was almost surprised by how tall they all were, even the female being eye height with himself. He was studying the bows and quivers the Elves carried on their backs as they approached, and almost slammed face first into one of the male Elves back when they halted suddenly.

“Lord Thranduil.” Tauriel hailed the King. “May I introduce...” Suddenly a deep, and familiar voice interrupted:

“Bard the Bowman. Or I suppose _Bargeman_ is more appropriate now?”

Bard went rigid. Tauriel visibly faltered, looking over her shoulder at Bard. The Bargeman felt a hot surge of anger and maybe a little excitement well up inside of him. He side-stepped the Elf in front of him to gain sight of the scout he had been worried (excited?) to see. However, to his horror, it was not the scout who had spoken, although the scout was familiar to him as well, but the beautiful creature lounging in the large ornate chair with a crown upon his head. His Elf..the Scout...the nubile creature he had thought about violating in every way possible over the past few years was the damn King of Mirkwood.

“Oh, you bastard.” The words were out before Bard could help himself, and the King's eyes widened for just a moment. The guards cried out harshly, something in Elvish, bows coming up, but Thranduil raised his hand, and an incline of his head was all it took for the guards to stand down. The Elf standing beside Thranduil...the one that looked so much like the King, was glaring daggers at Bard. They had to be related, these two. Brothers, perhaps?

Thranduil sat forward in his chair, to gain access to the pitcher of wine on the table. “It's been a long time, Bard.” Bard stared at the Elf, unable to comprehend the ease and familiarity that the King was speaking to him. He had come to the woods years ago with the intention to BED this man. The damn King of Mirkwood. Bard felt dizzy suddenly. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be real. He was suddenly way too warm and had the overwhelming urge to bolt from the forest. Thranduil sighed heavily. “Leave us.” The Elf (brother?) looked horrified.

“My Lord, I don't...”

“I said to leave us.”

The blonde Elf scout stared into Bard's soul one again, and with a gesture and a word in Elvish, the other three Elves followed him out of the clearing, the female glancing back at Bard several times. He knew they wouldn't be far out of sight, and not far enough out of earshot for the conversation he was about to have.

“Please, Bard. Sit.”

“I'd rather not.”

The Elf smirked slightly. “I sense you're angry.”

“You'd sense right.”

Thranduil swirled his wine in his cup. “And why, pray tell, are you angry? I figured you'd be overjoyed.”

Bard barked out a sharp laugh. “I'd punch you if I didn't think I'd get shot for it. You lied to me! And not just like some little thing, like a HUGE thing. Like a 'get me killed' kind of thing.”

“I'm not sure I know what you mean...”

Bard stared open mouthed at the King. Was he being serious? He didn't know what Bard meant? Was he being coy? Or were humans just a brief flash in the lives of these beings that little things like that moment in the woods that long ago summer day didn't hold a place in memory?

“You know damn well what I mean.”

Thranduil took a deep drink of wine before answering. “If you speak to me of the fumbling attempts of a child who didn't know what to do with his blooming body, yes Bargeman, I know what you speak of. I'm just not sure how I lied to you...”

“You're the damn King of Mirkwood! That may have been reasonably important information to share!”

“I never said who I was. You filled in the blanks as you chose.”

“Sorry, I didn't assume the King would be purring over a “child” like a cat in heat all by himself in the forest.”

Thranduil glared at Bard from under those impressive eyebrows, a small smile playing on his lips. “I've always enjoyed your cheek, Bargeman.”

Bard was almost angrier than his words had not had any effect on Elf. Bard was livid. Confused, hurt, a multitude of feelings he wasn't sure why he was feeling. It wasn't just the shock at the Elf he had met with being the King...there were all kinds of feelings that he had stuffed down inside of him on many a sleepless nights that seemed to be crawling their way into a lump in his throat. Was this some sort of Elf magic? He felt such overwhelming...feelings for this creature before him. The Elf that he had only spoken to twice. Men were weak. This was madness.

“I'm not sure why you felt the need to toy with me...this pretend meeting and whatnot. You knew damn well who was to be bringing your deliveries and still chose to drag me out here to meet with you. Why? To embarrass me? You've met your Bargemen, King Thranduil. May I take my leave? I must get back to...”

“Your wife?” The Elf interrupted, with what Bard was sure was a damn pout on his lips.

A bloody siren, this creature. Calling Bard to him with his words and that mouth and set to destroy him with whatever this was between them. “My daughter, as well.”

The Elf raised an eyebrow. “A daughter? How lovely. Congratulations.”

Bard didn't no if that was sincere or sarcasm. “Thank you.” He said tentatively.

The Elf locked eyes with him, those dazzling icy pools holding him, heat spreading through Bard's body. They electricity in the air was almost tangible between them and against all reason, all Bard wanted was to take those strides to close the distance between them and press his lips to the Elf's until he bruised them. Bard's breath hitched. His breeches felt tighter. It was like he was a boy of 17 again and his body was all limbs and hormones and he wanted to do things to this creature he would be ashamed to say aloud.

“It's not only anger you feel for me.” The Elf said quietly, the deep voice rumbling. It wasn't a question.

“Why were you at the forest edge that night? The night before my wedding.”

Thranduil broke the eye contact, looking away almost sadly. “You know why I came.”

“I need to hear it.” Bard said, his voice hushed.

“What good is it to say it aloud?”

“I need you to.”

“It makes no difference. I'm sure you love your wife, and would do nothing to...”

“Just answer the damn question for once.”

Thranduil's eyes darkened, narrowing, looking at Bard like he was prey. Bard felt the lump in his throat, as well as the one in his breeches, grow. Those damn eyes. They stripped you down...laid everything from your deepest, darkest thoughts bare and raw in front of you.

“I was coming to see you obviously.” Thranduil said, quietly, and then draining his glass of wine. “Was that was you needed to hear? I'm sure you figured that out. I had wine and I was going to come to you and whisper things to you and make you sweat and moan and beg for me never to stop touching you.”

Bard gasped, the Elfking very suddenly standing beside him, having narrowed the gap in two quick strides. He was a whole head taller than Bard, and so close Bard could feel his breath. Bard was almost panting, his body wound so tight and his hardness throbbing between his legs. “Why did you not come sooner?” Bard whispered.

Thranduil's eyes closed, he seemed to be trying to compose himself. “I wouldn't let myself. There was no reason for it. No explanation for the burning need I felt to go to you, that want that grew and grew from that day in the clearing. I wouldn't allow it. As you said so eloquently, I am the damn King of Mirkwood. I wasn't strong enough. I thought I would stop at the edge of the woods, just look at your house in the village but I needed to go to you. Then...”

“Frida.”

“Yes, your very soon to be wife. So, I took my leave. I stayed away. I didn't want to interfere.”

“You're not doing a very good job.”

Thranduil chuckled, the noise rumbling deep in his chest. “You make it very hard.”

Bard looked up at the King, his eyes betraying the lust he felt burning in his loins. “I find it hard to believe you cannot control yourself enough to keep away from a poor bargeman.”

“I cannot explain it myself,” The King all but purred, leaning in almost close enough to nuzzle against Bard. The Bargeman sighed deeply, longing for that contact. “I just know you make me crave you so deeply I feel it in my very bones.”

They stood like that for a quiet moment, Bard's eyes closed and breathing hard, the Elf King leaning in almost close enough to press his lips into that dark hair, his eyes heavily lidded with lust. Every inch of Bard wanted to touch the Elf...to taste him, smell him, explore all of him...but this was folly. This was torture and madness and he felt so treacherous for even letting things go this far. He needed to leave. He needed to go to his wife. He wouldn't do this to her.

“I can't...”

Thranduil nodded, not needing Bard to finish the rest of his sentence. “Nor will I ask it of you, Bard.”

Their eyes met again, and there was a sadness reflecting back in Thranduil's, and Bard felt a pain in his chest he thought would rip him in two. He tentatively reached up, his rough fingers ghosting across the Elf's cheek. Thranduil leaned into the touch.

“I'm sorry...”

“Don't apologize for living your life." Thranduil sighed deeply. "You must leave, Bard.”

Bard rubbed his thumb across the Elf's cheekbone. ““I know.”

Their eyes met again briefly, but Bard couldn't hold Thranduil's gaze. Thranduil nodded, and Bard took his hand from the Elf's face. He left the clearing quickly, surprised to feels tears prickling behind his eyes. As he walked quickly along the path, he could hear footsteps behind him, and knew whomever it was must have chosen for him to hear them. He turned to see Tauriel, her cheeks flushed. She thrust Bard's bow and quiver towards him. He took them, and just nodded at her, not trusting himself to speak. She gave him what seemed to be a knowing look, a sadness in her eyes as well. She nodded curtly, and turned on her heel to head back into the forest.

Bard was surprised to see the barrels had already been lashed together and placed on his boat, and he gave thanks for small miracles that would allow him to get home all the faster. He would be home sooner than Frida would expect, and he felt a surge of guilt at the thought of her welcoming smile. He had come very close to doing something he would regret for the rest of his days. But instead, he would go home to his wife, and kiss his little daughter, and try to pretend a little piece of him had not been left behind in those woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry this took so damn long. I hope it holds up to what people were hoping for. I almost can't handle all this sexual tension. I need to sort that out soon. Before I have an aneurysm.


	5. December 21 2920

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard receives a gift from Thranduil for his daughter, and believes it did not come from a place of kindness. Bard gets angry. Bard get drunk. Bard has the conversation with his wife that he has been dreading having.

“You guys know you have a package sitting out here in the snow?”

“A package?” Bard sat up. He was sprawled on the living area floor on a blanket, Sigrid laying there as well on her back cooing at her Da. “What is it?”

“No idea.” Sylvi replied, stomping snow off her boots on the mat in the doorway. “It's big though. Not sure how you guys didn't hear it getting hauled up on your step. It looks heavy.”

“Well don't take your boots off, I'll need your help by the sounds of it.” Bard said, hoisting himself up off the floor. He scooped Sigrid up too, and took her into the kitchen to give to Frida, who was sitting at the table mending some socks.

“Wonder who it could be from.” Frida commented, taking the baby from Bard.

He kissed the top of her head. “No idea. We'll know in a moment though!”

It took close to 15 minutes for Bard and Sylvi to lever the large and heavy crate through the door of Bard's home, with much swearing on Bard's part, and much yelling on Sylvi's part (not to mention much laughter from Frida who sat watching the whole ordeal from the kitchen table). Once it was sitting in the middle of the floor, Sylvi collapsed on the settee and Bard set about dismantling the crate with a crowbar.

“Is there a note or anything?” Frida asked, coming into the living area to sit beside her sister.

“No,” grunted Bard, working at the side of the crate. “Although, it could be inside.” Bard worked at the crate for a few more minutes, finally able to prise the side off.  When it finally fell away, he couldn't help but stand there agape at what was inside.

“Bard..?” Frida enquired. “Dear, are you okay?”

“Well? What is it?” Sylvi cried. Bard hauled the item out of the crate, still in awe at what he was seeing. Sylvi and Frida both gasped in unison. “Oh, it's beautiful!”

Nestled among the straw inside of the crate was beautifully carved cradle, made from heavy, dark wood. It was about as high as Bard's waist, with beautifully carved with stars and leaves all inlaid with silver. He ran his hands along the wood, so smooth and soft as silk to the touch. The square panel at the very foot of the cradle had two words carved into it, although they were carved in a language Bard couldn't read but was all too familiar.

The two sisters were walking about, admiring the beautiful piece, and when Frida stopped at the foot beside her husband, she gasped. “Goodness! This isn't from the Elf King?”

Bard just shook his head slowly. No. No he couldn't accept this. Why would Thranduil send this to him? Was this a sick joke? Something he would look at everyday and be reminded of what waited for him in the depths of Mirkwood? He dare to send this to his home...to his wife?

“Do you know him well?” Sylvi asked.

“No. Why would I know him well? He's the king.” Bard snapped.

Sylvi curled her nose up. “It was just a question...”

“Well you ask too many damn questions!”

“Bard!” Frida cried, looking at her husband, shocked.

“What the hell is your problem?” Sylvi shot back at Bard.

“We can't keep this.” Bard said flatly.

“What? Why?” Frida cried. “It's a beautiful gift! It would be rude to not accept this! He obviously appreciates your work, my love. We cannot refuse this. We'll offend him for sure!”

“We can't.” Bard repeated.

“Well we are.” Frida replied sharply. “I'm sorry. I'm putting my foot down. It is a splendid gift, and we're keeping it.” She looked at Sigrid. “Aren't we, baby girl?” Sigrid cooed in response. She glanced back at Bard, with a tiny smile. “See? Sigrid likes it.”

Bard was having a hard time containing the anger he felt at this whole situation. None of this was Frida's fault, of course. Bard had been racked with guilt for the past month over the situation in the woods that day he had met with Thranduil. She didn't know this, of course. This also meant that he couldn't explain to her why he couldn't keep this gift. Why he couldn't look at this every day. How would one begin to explain to their wife that you desired to lay with men? She would think him sick. Perverted. She would never let him touch her again. Why the hell did Thranduil send this? He knew what it would do to Bard. He was playing with him.

Suddenly the room was too small and too hot. His wife and his sister-in-law were looking at him intently and he couldn't meet their gaze. It was all too much very quickly. He needed to go out. Clear his head. Calm down. Possibly find Thranduil and choke him to death. Bard whipped around suddenly, grabbing his coat.

“Bard!” Frida cried. “Stop! What is the matter?”

“I need to go out for a bit.”

“Go out? It's storming! I'm about to start supper!”

“I'm sorry. Frida, I'm sorry. I won't be long.”

“Bard, why...”

Bard never heard the rest as the door slammed shut behind him. He needed to clear his head. He also desperately needed a drink.  
******** ******** ******** ******** ********  
It was late in the night before Bard stumbled home. The snow had been piling up for hours and it was a struggle to trudge through it. It also didn't help that he was very drunk. He had drank much more than he could afford to at the tavern, and Glynn, the bartender, had cut Bard off long before he had wanted to finish drinking. However, when you were as well liked as Bard was in the town, there was no shortage of people looking to buy you a drink. Or three.

Bard had no idea what time it was, but he knew it was late and that Frida would be worried sick. Bard felt mildly ashamed at having stormed out of the house, and even more ashamed about wasting this much money. He only hoped she would be asleep along with little Sigrid by the time he got home and that he could sleep it off on the settee and not have to talk about it til morning.

The lights of their little home were out when he approached, and after slipping on the front stairs twice and almost falling he was reasonably sure he wasn't going to make it into the house without waking his wife and baby, which would probably get him in even more hot water. Bard sighed, and set down heavily on the top step, barely feeling the cold and wetness that soaked through his trousers from the several inches of snow under him. He leaned his temple against the cold banister. He should of just stayed at the house. Having stormed out he ensured he was going to have to talk to Frida about why he was so upset.

“You're a bloody idiot,” he murmured to himself, closing his eyes sleepily.

“Even more so than I thought you were if you're going to sleep out here.” Came a voice from behind him.

Bard's eyes opened but he didn't turn his head. “I deserve to sleep out here.”

“You deserve to sleep on the floor perhaps, but not out in the snow. Up you get.” Bard let Frida take him arm and help him up from the step. He stumbled, and caught himself without much grace against the door frame. Frida frowned at her husband. “You're drunk.”

“Not very.”

“You're a liar too. How much money did you spend?”

“Not much...”

“You're too drunk to not have spent much.”

“People like me, what can I say.” Bard said, with a crooked grin.

“I don't like you very much at the moment.”

"I don't like myself very much at the moment.” Bard replied sombrely.

Frida studied her husband for a moment. “Come inside and get out of those wet clothes. I'll put the kettle on. You need to warm up or you'll be sick.”

Bard followed her into the house, trying as hard as he could to be quiet. She went about fixing him some tea as he stripped down to his longjohns. He tried to get his wet clothes hung up by the fire with very little success, until Frida pushed him into the rocking chair by the wood stove, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. Bard muttered a thank you, feeling even more guilty with her being kind to him. He sat hunched over, staring at his feet until she came to hand him a cup of tea. As she hauled over a chair from the table to sit across from him he noticed the cradle was no longer in the room.

“Where is it?” He said.

“Where's what?”

“You know what.”

“It's in the bedroom, of course.”

“I don't want it in there.”

“Well you're daughter can't very well sleep out here by herself, Bard.”

“I don't want my daughter sleeping in it at all.” He muttered, taking a sip of the scalding tea.

“Are you going to explain to me why you're being such a child about this?”

“We don't need handouts.”

“It's not a handout. It's a gift.”

“Same thing.” Frida chuckled softly, and Bard gave her a sideways glance. “What?”

“I should have figured. It's a pride thing.”

“It's not at all.”

“Then what is it, love?”

“I don't want gifts from HIM.”

“You don't want your child to receive a beautiful gift from the King of Mirkwood?”

“He didn't give it to her to be kind.”

“What does that even mean? You speak as if you know him well.”

“I know him well enough to know his motives and the only reason he sent the bloody thing was so I'd have to look at it every goddamn day.”

“You're drunk and rambling.” Frida said, with a chuckle.

“I'm not rambling.”

The more Bard thought about this whole situation the angrier he got. Thranduil would know this would upset Bard, and he would know that Bard would than be forced to explain to his wife why he was so upset over receiving such a kind gift. Of course it was beautiful, and of course he was touched that the King of Mirkwood had gifted something so exquisite upon his daughter, and of course he would look at it every day and think of those moments in the forest...think of those words left unsaid and the skin left untouched and there is was! That boiling up of emotion that felt so much like love but it couldn't possibly be...not with this Elf he had met three times in his life. Not with this KING whom he had no more in common with than he did a dragon....

“Bard...?”

He lifted his eyes at the sound of his wife's soft voice. Her eyes were full of concern, and at that point he realized tears were streaming down his face. He wiped at his eyes with the heel of his hand, trying to compose himself but he was just drunk enough that he couldn't stop it now that it had started.

“Bard?” Frida asked again, now sounding scared.

Bard took a shallow, hitching breath. “I'm sorry.” He choked out.

“Oh love, it's fine don't cry!” She said with a laugh. “You got drunk. It's fine. I'm not even really that mad about it! I promise!”

“No!” He cried. “You don't understand!”

“Well than help me understand. ”

A sob escaped Bard's throat. She was going to leave him. She would be so sickened by him and these perverse thoughts that she would take Sigrid and she would leave him. “I don't know if you will be able to understand. I don't understand it myself. But you'll hate me.”

“Bard, nothing could ever make me hate you!” Frida slid out of her chair, and knelt on the floor in front of her husband, setting aside his cup of tea and taking his hands, looking into his face in earnest. “But you need to talk to me. You need to tell me what's wrong.”

Bard pulled his hands away from her, and buried his face in them, trying to get his breathing under control, and in a long, babbling stream punctuated by sobbing he told his wife everything that had transpired from the time he had met Thranduil in the woods that day when he was 17.

Frida was still kneeling on the floor at the end of Bard's story, and he could see her eyes glistening with tears, and it ripped him apart to see the pain he was causing her. He stared into her eyes, silently pleading with her not to hate him...not to be disgusted. She cleared her throat, and avoiding his eyes asked quietly:

“Have you lain with other men?”

Bard scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling so distraught and embarrassed, but he owed her answers. He had no right to not be honest with her. It would only hurt them further is he was evasive right now. “I've..no. I've not lain with anyone other than you. You were my first. My only. I promise you that.”

“But you want to?”

“I would never betray you in that way, Frida.”

“That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking if you want to.”

“I don't know.” Bard said quietly. “I am sorry I can't explain more of this...I'm sorry I cannot explain it better. I don't know what it is myself that I feel.”

“Do you love him?” She asked bluntly.

Bard avoided looking into her eyes. “I barely know him. He's that King of Mirkwood...”

“That's not what I asked you, Bard. I need you to answer that.”

Bard felt his eyes well up again, and he looked at his wife. “I might,” he whispered. Frida swallowed hard, and he knew she was trying her best to keep her composure. Bard was not doing so well, tears streaming down he cheeks again.

“Do you love me?” She asked, quietly.

“Yes.” He answered, firmly and with no hesitation.

“And you are happy? With us? With our family?”

“Of course I am.” He replied, catching up her hands in his. He was thrilled that she let him do it, and didn't pull away from his touch.

“And you won't ever leave us?” Her voice hitched with that question.

Bard came out of his chair, to kneel in front of her on the floor, kissing her palms. “Never. Never would I leave you, my love. Nor our family. I...I don't know a lot of things, and I haven't been able to sort a lot of this out in my own mind, but one thing that will never change is how much I love you, and our little family.” Frida reached up to stroke her husband's cheek. “You aren't disgusted by me?” he asked tentatively, eyes downcast.

“We cannot choose how we feel, Bard. Nor who we feel it for. But we can choose if we act on it or not. No, I am not disgusted by you. I don't think you sick or perverse. You love this family, you provide for us and care for us and all I ask is one thing.”

“Anything.”

Frida lifted his chin so he would meet her eyes. “If you ever grow unhappy...or you ever decide you love him more..” Here she paused, her voice cracking. “You go to him. I love you too much to see you suffer or be unhappy at my expense.”

Bard gathered her into his arms, sobbing once again. He didn't deserve this woman. He didn't deserve something this good and precious in his life.

“Promise me," she said again.

“I'll promise you.” He replied, his words muffled in her shoulder. “But it won't happen.”

“I hope it doesn't.” She replied kissing his hair. “Oh, and we're keeping the cradle.”

Bard pulled his face from her neck to look at her, confused. “What? Why would you want...?”

“Because it's obvious he cares about you, Bard. I'm not sure how quite to deal with that yet, but he does, and you for him. It was for Sigrid, after all, and despite however you feel about it or him, it was a gift not sent out of malice, or at least that's how I feel.” Bard stared at his wife in awe. “Plus it looks pretty damn expensive.” She added with a shrug.

Bard barked out a laugh, loudly and obnoxiously enough apparently to wake Sigrid. He looked at Frida apologetically.

“Go to sleep.” She said with a laugh. “I'll take care of her. But in the morning, no matter how hungover you are, you're getting up with her and I'm sleeping in.”

“Deal.” he replied, with a kiss on her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how I feel about this chapter, to be honest. I don't know how I feel about Frida's response to all this. Is it not believable? I played with several different options and ended up here. Let me know what you think!


	6. December 24, 2920

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holidays are upon them and amidst the celebrating Bard takes a quiet moment to think about an old friend.

Bard didn't think he could sneak out of the house unnoticed but somehow he had manged. He shut the door quietly on the music and laughter booming from inside, and let the quiet of the night envelop him. For some reason it seemed his small home had become the headquarters for the whole damn town to ring in the holidays. There was more food then he knew what to do with, the wine and ale were flowing freely and little baby Sigrid was being passed from person to person and loving every second of the attention. People had been coming and going since the early afternoon and Bard just needed a quiet moment to himself.

It was bitterly cold, an icy wind blowing in across the water, and he was pleased to see it was just beginning to snow. The winters had become shorter and less snowy since his youth, and he was happy to think that Sigrid's first Christmas would be a white one, and even though she'd never remember, Bard would.

He pulled his coat tight against his neck, rubbing the soft fur against his cheek. It was his Christmas gift from Frida, a beautiful sheepskin coat lined in warm furs. She had given it to him early, yesterday in fact, so he would be warm on his trip up the river on his barge. They had been experiencing a cold snap, and she said he couldn't be making those trips any longer without a nice warm coat. Where she had found the time to make it with the baby, and without him seeing was beyond him. But he was very thankful to have it, and very thankful to have someone who cared enough for him to make it.

He couldn't stop his eyes from wandering towards Mirkwood. He could just make out the treetops, blacker against the already black sky. Bard had not seen Thranduil since that meeting a month ago...and he supposed he shouldn't be surprised. It's not as if he expected the King to come and help him load barrels...

Bard chuckled at the thought. Having now seen Thranduil in his crown and luxurious robes, he wondered how he ever believed him a scout...he felt if he were to see the Elf King in the guard uniform again it would not seem believable...surrounded by jewels and velvet he looked at home, like nothing else would be worthy of surrounding him...

Guilt stirred in the pit of his stomach. He and Frida had not spoken of their conversation about the Elf King. Even yesterday when he had headed out to retrieve the barrels, she hadn't mentioned anything about it, and sent him off with a kiss and wish that he return to her safely as always. Bard still found himself hoping Thranduil may be there this time...and he still felt guilty for that hope.

Were the Elves revelling as well tonight? Did they celebrate in same way and the same things that Men did? Somewhere deep in those halls was Thranduil drinking too much wine and singing too loudly? Was there food and merriment and music in that deep wood? Would Thranduil give him a small thought on this night? Wonder if Bard was happy, safe and warm? Bard dipped his head, touching his fingers to his forehead, which he then motioned towards the woods, almost in a gesture of greeting; or maybe of farewell. With a sad smile on his face, he went back into the warmth and cheer of his home.

If Bard's eyesight had been keener, such as that of other creatures, he would of seen the tall figure clad in white furs at the forest edge, blonde hair being whipped out from under his silver hood in the icy winds. Thranduil was pleased with his timing. He had only been able to slip away for a few moments, as not to be missed in the merry-making in his halls, and somehow he had managed to be there for Bard's brief respite from the revelry happening within his own home. Thranduil could not have hoped for more, but somehow he received it. Bard made a gesture towards the forest, one Thranduil felt was meant for him. Bard didn't see the Elfking gesture back, a small touch with his hand above his heart, then held out towards the Town. He never saw the fur clad figure disappear back in to the woods with a smile upon his lips. The Elvenking had received a gift that made him happier than he had been in many years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter...just a little moment I've wanted to write for a little while now. There will probably be a few chapters like this scattered through...little moments I don't want to leave out but don't really fit in with the longer chapters. I hope you guys enjoy this as well. 
> 
> Also, I am aware that more than likely it would be Yule celebration on or around Dec. 21, not on Christmas Eve as we know it. I also believe that I read Elves do not have a midwinter celebration. I bent this a little bit to suit my purposes and timeline. I regret nothing.


	7. March 19, 2921

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frida and Bard have another somewhat unpleasant chat about the Thranduil situation, but all is well in the end (maybe even a little better than Bard had hoped.)

Sigrid was now just over four months old and continued to amaze Bard every day. Every little smile, every little noise and laugh was like a gift and Frida teased him for getting excited over every little thing his daughter did. He also spent an overwhelming amount of time worrying about her hurting herself or getting sick. Was she warm enough? Was he feeding her enough? Should she be crawling? He had no idea about any of it and it all fascinated and terrified him.

Her newest milestone was being able to roll over, and now that she knew she could do it, she needed to watched like a hawk. Turn your head for a second and she was rolling away, off the blanket Bard had spread out on the floor, or even more terrifying doing it on her parents bed where Bard was sure she'd roll right off and break her neck. He found himself spending more and more time laying on the floor, watching her and laughing along with her sweet little giggles as she rolled about.

That's where Bard was this evening, laying with Sigrid on a blanket on the floor, while she cooed and rolled about. Frida was bustling about the kitchen, cleaning up from supper when she suddenly said:

“It was him, wasn't it?”

Bard's brow furrowed in confusion. “What was who?”

“The Elf the night before our wedding. It was King Thranduil, yes?”

Bard pushed himself up onto his elbow so he could look at his wife. She had her back to him, staring out the window above the sink, her hands still in the dishwater.

“Are you sure you want to discuss this?”

She shrugged, moving again to work on the dishes. “There isn't much to discuss, really. I just wanted to know. I assumed it to be him after our discussion about the whole thing...I just wanted to know for sure, I suppose.”

“Aye.” Bard replied quietly. “That was him.”

Frida was quiet for a few moments. Bard thought for a moment she was finished talking about it. Then she said, “He's beautiful.”

Bard stiffened. He wasn't sure how to respond to that statement, or if it would even be in his best interest to respond to it at all. He has decided that if at any point Frida wanted to discuss any of it that he would be as open and honest with her as he could be. He owed her that much. However, how did one respond to this?

“I'm sorry, this must be uncomfortable for you,” Frida said, saving Bard from answering.

However, instead of relief he felt a stab of guilt. All of this, and she was worried about HIM being uncomfortable. He was in awe. “You're a saint, do you know that?”

Frida sighed, turning from the sink to face her husband. “I'm not...and as much as I wish I could say I'm alright with the whole thing, there are days I really am not. There are days I feel a hot ball of jealousy in my chest and I just want to cry and scream at you and say hateful things.”

“I'm sorry,” Bard murmured, lowering his head.

“I know you are. And part of me aches for you...for how you must feel. That you have to apologize for what is in your heart...”

“What is in my heart is yours.”

“Mostly.” She replied quietly, a sad smile playing on her lips. “I know all of it never will be, and I accept that. I may not be okay with it yet, but I accept it.”

Bard glanced at Sigrid, surprised to see she had fallen asleep. She brushed her cheek gently, and then pushed himself off the floor to go to his wife. He folded her into his arms, happy that she returned the embrace, her face pressed to his chest. Not once had she shied away from his touch since their discussion of Thranduil, and he gave thanks for that. He was not sure he could bear it if she turned from his embrace, from his lips...

“I love you, Frida.” He said, his cheek resting on her head. “I love you as deeply and as truly as the day we married, and nothing, nor anyone, will change that.”

“Did he come to you?” She asked, her voice muffled on his chest.

“The night you saw him?”

“Yes.”

“No. He didn't come. He must have left once he spoke with you.”

Frida lifted her face, her eyes holding Bard's. “Do you wish he had of?”

Bard held his wife's gaze, trying to swallow down the lump in his throat, and choose his words carefully. “I can't deny my desire for him...there were many of nights in my youth I wished he would of come. Or that I had the nerve to go to him.” Frida frowned slightly, and Bard kissed her forehead. “But not that night. When you told me what had happened...I had been sure it was him. But I did not desire for him to come. I love you, my dear. I promised myself to you, and I intend to honour that promise. Not because of a sense of duty, or because it's the right thing, but because I love you, I cherish you and I never want to do anything to hurt you.”

Frida looked up at him, a genuine smile on her lips now. Bard brought his hands to the sides of her face, caressing her cheekbones with his thumbs. He brought his lips to hers and he could still feel her smiling through the kiss. He kissed her deeper, harder, and she began to kiss him back with more heat. Suddenly she pulled away, her cheeks flushed.

“I won't lie,” she said, lowering her eyes and looking at her husband through her lashes. “Part of me feels sorrow for Thranduil as well.”

Bard raised an eyebrow, curious as to what had suddenly brought about that train of thought, and very much wanting to stop talking and get back to kissing. So he was sure he would regret asking: “And why is that, my love?”

“Cause he doesn't get to do this,” she purred, her hand coming to firmly grasp the bulge in his breeches.

Bard inhaled sharply, his want for her mounting. “You're wicked,” he murmured, his eyes dark with want.

“And you love it.” She breathed back, nipping at his bottom lip. “And you may just have time to do something about it before your daughter wakes up, if you hurry.” She winked at him, and moved towards the bedroom. Bard didn't have to be asked twice.  
******** ******** ******** ********  
Bard cherished these quiet moments with his wife. Her head on his chest, her thick black hair unbound and wild, the heat of her naked skin pressed the length of his side. These moments had grown a little fewer and farther between since the birth of their daughter, making them something that he valued even more.

“I fear we may be bad parents.” Bard sighed.

“What? Why?” Frida asked sleepily, craning her neck so she could see her husband.

Bard gazed down into those green eyes, his brow furrowed. “To leave our poor child to sleep on the floor while we run off to engage in sins of the flesh.”

Frida rolled her eyes, slapping Bard's arm. “Oh, shut your mouth! We're great parents!”

“Yeah, we really are.” He said with a laugh. “And really good looking too.”

“It's true.” Frida replied, planting a small kiss on his chest. “You should really probably go get our child off the floor though and put her in her cradle.”

“Aye.” Bard sighed. “But I'm so comfy...”

“You were the one accusing us of being bad parents.”

“You're right,” he replied. He pushed himself up out of the bed with a groan. “Why does it have to be so damn cold in here!” He hopped up out of the bed, searching around the room for his nightshirt. “Let's move some place warmer.”

Frida laughed. “Maybe when Sigrid is older.”

“Some place I don't have to wear six layers of clothes on a daily basis.”

“I could get behind you on that.” Frida replied with a giggle, admiring the view from the bed.

Bard glanced at her over his shoulder. “Well, I've already been behind you, so I suppose it's only fair.”

Frida groaned at her husband, and his laughter was muffled as he pulled his finally found nightshirt over his head, and headed out to retrieve Sigrid.

“You're lucky you're cute!” Frida called after him.

Bard was still chuckling as he scooped his daughter up. He was thankful she looked like her mother, and if she possessed even a portion of his cheek, then they'd be in trouble once she was old enough to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO BAD AT SUMMARIES. Maybe even worse at them then titles. Thank god I can just get away with using dates as the chapter titles. Advise on summaries? Halp? haha Are they something you guys need? Do you care?
> 
> Also, a BIG thank you to thetallestofhobbits and gamoraaaaa over on tumblr for advice on/help with this chapter. I really appreciate it <3


	8. July 14, 2921 (Age 23)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard has become friends with Tauriel during his time delivering to Mirkwood, and that has fast become his favourite part of the job. Today, however, he gets a special little treat.

One of the parts Bard enjoyed most about his barrel run was getting to see Tauriel, a Captain of the Guard of Mirkwood. She was kind, and funny and seemed to like talking to the Bargeman as much as he enjoyed talking to her. She didn't help with the barrels, but was normally there with another scout to keep an eye on things and to keep an eye out for any trouble. When they were done for the day, the other scout and the two sent to help with the barrels would always head back right away, but if the weather was nice, sometimes Tauriel would tarry and sit with Bard while he ate his lunch. It varied from week to week which Elves came, but Tauriel was a constant, and Bard enjoyed her company.

He had often tried to engage the other Elves in conversation, but was lucky to get a one word answer from them, and even luckier if it was not in Elvish. He was still always polite, and still always tried to make small talk with them, although Tauriel told him he was wasting his time. It seemed most of her kind viewed Men as lesser beings then themselves, and therefore did not waste time on them. Tauriel seemed to differ on this matter, however.

Bard had learned through their conversations that Tauriel was an orphan, and that was almost something completely unheard of in the world of Elves. Bard of course was an orphan as well, having lost both of his parents to a sickness when he was young, and he wondered if this fact made them form a friendship a little faster than would have otherwise happened.

As much as he wanted to ask her (on more than one occasion) of Thranduil, he refrained. He assumed he would be putting her in a sticky spot asking her about what was going on inside the Woodland Realm. He was not sure how much she had overheard that day in the woods when he had spoken with Thranduil, but from the look on her face when she had given him his bow back, he assumed most of it. He wondered if the poor bargeman mooning over the Elf Lord was joked about in the kingdom. He tried not to think about that too often.

Today was hot and sunny, and found both Bard and Tauriel perched on barrels while Bard ate his lunch. The sun was blazing, and Bard had stripped down to his undershirt and was still sweating. He wasn't sure how Tauriel was wearing all the thick wool and leather she was wearing, and had to assume that Elves didn't experience heat and cold in the same way Men did.

“How do you get away with staying behind the days you do?” Bard asked, squinting through the sun at Tauriel. “They don't question when the rest of the party comes back without you?”

Tauriel shrugged. “No, not really. Mundane tasks like this don't garner much attention. They probably don't realize I'm missing half the time.”

“You're a Captain and they don't notice you're missing?”

“Oh, I'm sure they notice. Just everyone assumes everyone else is doing what they're supposed to be doing most times. It's a fairly large kingdom, with fairly little governing.”

“King Thranduil doesn't know everything that's going on? That surprises me.”

“He knows. If it's 'unimportant' he doesn't care. My comings and goings probably interest him very little.”

“I suppose.”

Bard went back to eating, and Tauriel continued to study him. This was something he was starting to get used to as well. Elves didn't talk much it seemed, and also spent a great deal of time staring at you like they were looking into the depths of your soul. It was unnerving at the best of times, and the worst of times it made him so uncomfortable and self-conscious that he wanted to curl up in a ball and hide.

“I’m going to say something...” Bard started. “And please, don't get offended by it. I know he's your King and all...”

Tauriel raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on her lips. “Okay?”

Bard took a deep breath. “Is he really as much of a prat as he seems?”

Tauriel laughed loudly, seeming to be caught off guard by the question. It was a magical sound, and he wished he could hear it more often. She was friendly, but always seemed to be trying to keep composed and not ever really quite being herself.

“I'm not completely familiar with all your terms, but I get the jist of that one I think.” She was still chuckling. “I don't think he's a 'prat' as you say. He's just...guarded, I suppose. Not very trusting.”

“With a huge stick up his ass.”

Tauriel was still grinning. “Not at all, actually! He's actually quite well known for his parties and quick wit. In Elven circles, at least. He's always the life of the party...and I think he likes it that way.”

Bard stared at Tauriel, brow furrowed. “King Thranduil?”

“Yes.”

“Tall blonde with the crown?”

“Yes!”

Bard shook his head. “I find that hard to believe. He looks like he hasn't had a day of fun in his life.”

“I assure you, I am telling the truth! He may not have as much to celebrate as of late, but he likes good wine and laughter and dancing as much as any other Elf.”

“You'd never know it.”

“He's not a stern as he looks.”

“Well you know what they say.” Bard said, hoisting himself up off his seat. “Smiling gives you wrinkles.”

Tauriel dissolved into laughter again. “I don't think that works quite the same for us, Bard.”

Bard shrugged, and set about finishing lashing the barrels together. “All I know is I hope I look that good when I'm 5000 years old.”

“He's not THAT old.” Tauriel replied. Her face suddenly got serious. “Bard, I'm sorry if this is out of line, but I must ask, that first day that you took over as bargeman, you said...”

Tauriel's words were cut short by the clear, loud blast of a horn just out of sight in the forest. The Elf was on her feet before Bard even had a chance to react. He assumed she could see who was coming before he could, for she muttered something under her breath that sounded an awful lot like it would be a curse.

From out of a forest rode several Elves on white horses. Bard didn't recognize any of the Elves except the blonde one astride the first horse, being the other blonde Elf that greatly resembled the King.

“Who is he?” Bard asked. “The blonde one. He must be some relation to King Thranduil?”

“Yes.” Tauriel replied, still watching the riders. “He is the King's son. Legolas.”

Bard gaped at Tauriel. “His SON?'

Tauriel looked perplexed. “Yes...? Their look and bearing are too similar not to be.”

“Yes, but SON? I thought BROTHER perhaps. They look pretty much the same age!”

“Elves, Bard. You don't seem to grasp how different we are from yourself.”

“Oh, I grasp it. It just doesn't make any sense.”

The riders paused not too far beyond the eaves of the forest, while Legolas continued on towards the barge. Tauriel looked suddenly nervous, and that was quite possibly because of the look of disgust Legolas was sending at Bard. Bard didn't notice any of this however, since hie eyes were glued to the figure currently coming out of the forest path.

King Thranduil was a sight to behold, clad in dark greens and browns, his long blonde hair flowing down over the cloak about his shoulders. Instead of the large crown that he had seen the King wear before, he had a fairly plain gold circlet was on his forehead. He made a splendidly regal figure for sure, and even more breathtaking considering he was sitting astride an enormous elk that had the largest antlers Bard had ever seen in his life.

“Of course he rides an elk. Why wouldn't he ride an elk?” Bard muttered.

Tauriel cast him a sideways glance. “I'd hold your tongue in front of the Prince,” she said quietly.

Bard nodded and continued to stare in awe at the Elf King, despite the fact that Tauriel and the King's son were surely both looking at him drooling over their monarch like a lovelorn teenager. Although just a little far away for Bard to make out, he was sure the King was looking at him directly. Bard wished he were closer to see those gorgeous eyes. He suddenly felt very self-conscious about being stripped down to his undershirt (and also wondered if the King liked what he saw).

Legolas didn't catch Bard's attention until he spoke, and Bard realized how close the Elf had come without him noticing. The Prince spoke to Tauriel, in his Elvish tongue of course, but his eyes stayed glued on Bard the whole time. Bard had to drop his gaze several times, unable to stand the distaste the blazed in them. The exchange between the two Elves was somewhat heated (on Legolas' end at least), with Tauriel answering with one word responses, eyes downcast. The Prince stared at Bard hard for a few more seconds, then turned his horse sharply and headed back to join the party.

“Are you in trouble?” Bard enquired, quietly.

Tauriel flashed a small smile. “No more than usual. King Thranduil has decided to go hunting apparently, and Legolas wishes me to join the party.”

“I guess I didn't think Elves would go in for hunting, honestly.”

“What we are hunting has no place in our forest.” Tauriel answered cryptically. “It is strange though...I can't remember the last time the King went on a hunting trip...”

Bard's gaze wandered back to Thranduil, who quickly turned his head to speak to another Elf, a look on his face almost as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't be. Bard found himself grinning. There was something exhilarating about catching the attention of a creature such as Thranduil.

Tauriel was gazing at Bard, a curious expression on her face. “It's odd for them to come this way as well. It's a longer route.”

“Is it?” Bard replied, not looking at her.

“Indeed. Perhaps he has other motives.”

“I don't think I understand what you could mean.” Bard could feel a smile creeping back onto his lips, and didn't try to hide it from Tauriel.

She gazed at him a moment longer. “I must take my leave. Have a safe journey home, Bard.”

“Thank you. Be safe as well.”

"Don't worry.” She said with a grin, as she climbed from the barge. “I'll make sure the King comes back in one piece.”

Bard chuckled as she walked away. Elves were much too perceptive. He looked back to Thranduil, who was still speaking to the guard, but his head was turned towards Bard. The bargeman took a few moments to stretch out his muscles, sore from the mornings work. He rolled his neck, his shoulders, making sure to flex a little more obviously than he normally would. He knew the Elf's eyes were good enough to see every muscle rippling, even from that distance. Bard knew this, cause when he gave a wink to Thranduil, the Elf King got visibly flustered, and quickly gave the command to move on.

Bard laughed to himself. Two could play at this game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Hey look another awful summary haha) I REALLY like the idea of Tauriel and Bard beings friends.
> 
> Also, I don't know if any of you follow me on Tumblr, but this is chapter 8, and I have 14 more outlined. That brings us to 22 chapters, and that's not even CLOSE to me being finished. I'm so, so sorry to have done this to all of you. I never meant for it to get so out of hand.


	9. July 16, 2921

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard learns a little more about the gifts that Elves possess.

Bard was aware quite quickly he was dreaming, despite the fact that he had never had a dream like this one before.

First off, he knew for a fact that he had never been to this place before in his life. It was a lush garden, deep and green, filled with flowers he didn't know the names for. All the colours were almost hyper-real...too bright to be anything that actually grew in the world. He could also hear water running somewhere not too far away, although he could not see it.

Secondly, he was AWARE he had never been to this place before. He was aware these weren't flowers that grew anywhere he had ever been, aware he making the decisions...where to look, where to walk...he was aware of his own thoughts and senses.

It was as if Bard had “woken up” in this place, for lack of a better term. He opened he eyes and was suddenly in this beautiful garden with all of it's strange smells and colours. It was not an unpleasant place by any means, but he found himself a little in awe that he had managed to imagine somewhere such as this. He also found it a little strange how quiet it seemed to be. No bird noises, not leaves rustling...silence except for the sound of the running water.

Bard headed to his left, towards the sound. The path he walked on was made of small white stones, but they made no noise under his feet. He found it strange he could dream all these strange flowers, but not the sound of his own footsteps. He was unsure for a moment if he was heading in the right direction, for the water sound did not seem to be getting louder. He came around a bend in the path, and suddenly there it was. A small waterfall, glittering in the bright clear light of the moon, and there beside it stood Thranduil.

Bard paused, studying the Elf King. He stood gazing at the water, his hair and skin almost glowing in the soft light. He wore no crown upon his head, and his hair was pulled back from his face into a braid. Bard realized he had never seen him wear it like that before. He was clad all in silver, the tunic he wore, his tights, the belt encircling his narrow hips...He was positively glowing in the moonlight, and Bard had never seen him look so beautiful.

“I knew this was no ordinary dream.” Bard called out, quietly.

“And you would be right.” Thranduil replied, turning from the waterfall. “It is a gift that most of my kind possess, to be able to walk in the dreams of others.”

“I feel this isn't mine, though. I've never seen many of these things in my life.” Bard said, gesturing around him.

“It is your dream, I just manipulate the details. Your actions and your words are you own. I just took some liberties trying to make things as pleasing as possible.” He gestured towards Bard.

Bard looked down at his own body for the first time, and was a little confused. He owned one fine set of clothes, which were the ones he was married in, and would likely be buried in, and these were not them. His coat was a deep red, and velvet. Under he wore a fine black silk shirt, unlaced at the top. His leather breeches were dark as well, with tall, black boots of rich leather up to his knee. He glanced up at Thranduil, raising an eyebrow.

“You prefer me like this? I hate to disappoint but this will probably be the first and only time you see me in clothes such as this.”

“It's not that I prefer it.” Thranduil said. “You are stunning no matter what you wear. I just wanted to see it for curiosities sake.”

“You would fantasize about getting to dress me in pretty clothes...”

“Oh, I have you in much less than this in my fantasies.”

The words hung between them, and Bard swallowed hard. He had thought of such scenarios as these many times on lonely nights in his youth. Thranduil coming to him in the night...Bard riding to the very doors of Thranduil's halls and the King taking him to bed...the fantasies weren't as often now that he was married...he didn't often have the time or need to satisfy himself by his own hand. If he did though, he never felt guilty about such thoughts...it was just a fantasy, after all. A daydream. But this felt much more real, as if the lines were blurred and he wasn't quite sure if he would awake with regrets of what he did or said in this place...

“Why are we here?” Bard asked.

Thranduil tilted his head. “I wished to speak with you.” He glided across the clearing, to sit down on an ornate bench next to the path.

Bard's eyes followed him the whole way. “Speak with me about what?”

“Nothing. Everything. Whatever you like. I found myself desiring to hear your voice”

Bard found himself wandering towards the bench as well. “Why tonight? All this time and why did you chose to come to me tonight?

A small smile played on the King's lips. “You're little 'show' the other day did not go unnoticed.” He met Bard's eyes. “Unless I misunderstood, and that was not meant for me?”

Bard set down on the bench, studying the Elf. Thranduil couldn't possibly believe Bard could be looking at another with a creature such as this in front of him. “Who else would it have been for?”

“I was beginning to think Tauriel, perhaps...”

Bard stared wide-eyed at Thranduil for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Seriously? You're jealous of Tauriel?”

“I'm not jealous.” Thranduil replied stiffly. “I was just unsure what your intentions were.”

“I have no intentions. We're friends. She's not really my type, honestly.”

Thranduil gazed at his companion. “There are so many contradictions in that statement, I'm not sure where to start...”

Bard laughed softly. “I suppose there are.”

Bard was intensely aware of the Elf beside him. The heat coming from his body, the sound of his breathing...his smell. Lords, had he always smelled like this? Was this another liberty Thranduil had taken in the details of the dream? It was almost making Bard's mouth water. He wanted to put his mouth all over him...find out if he tasted as good as he smelled...No. Nope. This train of thought needed to stop. And yet...

“Were you honestly worried I had feelings for Tauriel?” Bard enquired. He was playing with fire. He knew continuing this conversation would lead down a slippery slope...

“I have no right to be worried.” Thranduil said with a sigh. “I have no right to have an opinion on it at all.”

“Yet, you do.”

“I have no claim on you...”

Bard took a deep breath, and reached out to take the Elf's hand. He was shocked to discover how hot his skin burned. He had always thought Thranduil's skin would be as cold as the marble he resembled. “We both know that's not quite true.”

Thranduil's blue eyes met Bard's. He looked almost confused by Bard's words. “I'm not asking you to indulge me, Bard.”

“I'm not indulging you. You must know that...whatever this is...I feel the same.” Bard was glad of this dream, or vision or whatever was happening. It was making him brave. Or maybe just making him stupid.

“You're wife...”

Bard squeezed Thranduil's hand. “I love Frida. Nothing is going to change that. But it doesn't lessen what I feel for you...whatever it is.”

“You don't know how you feel?”

Bard hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I know how I feel...and to be honest, that almost terrifies me more. From that first day in the woods when I was 17, I was lost to you. Bound to you. ”

A slight flush was creeping up Thranduil's cheeks. “It brings me great joy to hear you say these things, but also sadness as well. I feel I lead you on a dangerous path...towards suffering and pain. I don't want to cause that in you. In your wife. I steel myself to leave you be, but I cannot. It eats at me. To see you, to hear your voice, to touch you....” Thranduil's hand slipped from Bard's, coming to rest on the bowman's thigh. “That first day I came to you...I shouldn't have done it.”

Bard was almost too distracted by that hand on his thigh to answer. He could feel his cock throbbing between his legs. He longed to have that pretty mouth of the King wrapped around it...tangle his hands in that blonde hair...When Bard spoke, his voice sounded a thick. “I wish you had of come sooner.”

Thranduil shook his head. “What you would of thought of me? Lusting after what was almost a child...I couldn't control this need for you and it's something I have not experienced in centuries.”

“Things could have been much different if you had come sooner. So much different...”

“You regret your choices?”

“No. But I regret what I have missed out on...what could have been.”

“It's dangerous to dwell on the might-have-beens. Trust me. I have thousands of years of regrets. Not coming to you when I should have is one of my most idiotic decisions in recent memory.”

Bard brought his hand up to the Elf's cheek, who leaned in to the touch. His eyes slid shut, savouring the feel of Bard's rough hand against his skin. Bard was having a hard time controlling himself. He wanted his hands all over every inch of Thranduil's body, feel every last bit of that skin. “This feels almost real...” he whispered, gently rubbing his thumb across Thranduil's plump bottom lip.

“But the beauty is, it's not.” Thranduil replied, his eyes opening to lock on Bard's. “As much as I wish it were. However, considering the fact you have a wife, if this were not a dream, it would be completely disgraceful for me to do this...” Thranduil's hand glided up Bard's thigh, coming to rest on the bulge straining the front of his breeches.

Bard's breath caught in his throat. Thranduil's eyes were still locked on his, the Elf's pale skin flushed, his lips parted. His hand worked steadily at Bard's erection, and the Bowman couldn't stand it any longer. He moved his hand to the back of Thranduil's head, and pulled the Elf forward roughly into a hard, bruising kiss.

Thranduil kissed him back with vigour, nimble fingers working to unlace his lover's breeches. Every single nerve in Bard's body was screaming for the contact...to have the Elf's large, strong hands wrapped around his length. He moaned into Thranduil's mouth, the Elf taking the opportunity to slide his tongue in against Bard's.

They kissed deeply and roughly, for how long Bard wasn't sure. Thranduil had gotten his breeches unlaced, but had yet to pull out his cock. Bard found himself grinding against Thranduil's palm, bucking his hips impatiently, needing the contact. Thranduil's fingers slipped inside the opening, just ghosting against his skin.

Bard broke their kiss finally, his head falling back over the back of the bench, as Thranduil quickly moved in to kiss along Bard's jaw...down on to his throat. He moved suddenly, and came to be standing between Bard's spread knees, still kissing every inch of skin he could find...neck, chest...lower...

The Elf was on his knees before Bard realized, eyes hungry and hands working to pull Bard's length from his breeches. Bard felt himself right on the verge of release already and was horrified at the thought of cumming with almost no contact, like some inexperienced teenager. Bard grabbed Thranduil's hair a little rougher than he meant to, fingers tangling painfully and pulling the Elf's head up to meet his eyes. Thranduil moaned loudly, apparently having no issue with the rough treatment. That almost did Bard in. Thranduil's face was pink, right to the points of his ears. Bard was gasping.

“I can't” He panted. “Not like this. I don't want it to be like this. Not something fake.”

“This isn't fake, Bard.”

“It is though. I know I'll regret this, but I can't. I don't know if we ever will, but if there is even a chance, I can't have the first time be like this.”

Thranduil's eyes softened. “I can wait..I will wait, if you ask it of me. I'm not asking you to do anything you will regret, but I will honour whatever decision you make.”

Bard groaned. “I can't believe I'm asking you to stop.” He chuckled. “I'll be regretting this when I wake up, I'm sure.”

“Well, I wouldn't think of leaving you in such a state!” Thranduil stood up, bracing his hand's on Bard's knees, and leaning in to whisper something softly in Bard's ear.

Bard awoke as an orgasm was ripping through his body. He put his fist to his mouth, biting his knuckles to keep from moaning as wave after wave of hot pleasure rolled through his stomach and groin. When it had passed, he lay quietly for a moment, listening to Frida breathing deep and steady, and wondering how on earth he didn't wake her, for he must have cried out.

He lay the dark, soaked in sweat, and tried to wait for his breathing to steady. He felt like a teenager again. He felt a little ashamed. Although it had been a dream, and he had truly done nothing wrong besides dream it, he still felt that familiar stir of guilt. Bard quietly climbed from the bed to go clean himself up. Part of him hoped that like with all dreams, the memory of this one would fade by morning. Part of him wished to hang on to it for just a little longer...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I was so worried about this....I decided to not "go all the way" for obvious reasons...I want that to be in person. To be real and magical ahaha. Hopefully this soothes everyone's hormones for a brief time...it will probably be a little while before some more Barduil lovin...


	10. October 26, 2921

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil likes his wine, and Thranduil likes Bard. Why can't he have both?

Bard was exhausted to the very marrow of his bones. Sigrid was sick and had been up all night, and it had killed Bard to have to leave her and Frida today for barrel delivery. That had been no treat either. It had been raining for a week straight, and the river was swollen and raging. There were a few times Bard had been unsure if he would make it to Mirkwood.

He had made it, but it had taken over an hour longer than normal, and upon arrival it was discovered the dock had become damaged in the flooding, and Bard and the Elves had worked to do what they could to repair it and make it safe enough for the delivery. At least the driving rain had subsided, but more permanent repairs would have to wait until the water level dropped back to normal.

It was well after dark now, and Bard was just arriving back in Laketown, starving and with his clothes soaked through. Despite the rain having stopped, working to repair the dock had been wet and cold business. Bard desired noting more than to get out of these wet clothes, get some warm food in his belly and snuggle his sick little girl.

Bard was securing the barge at the main dock, when he sensed more so than heard someone behind him. He stiffened, but kept on with his work. Being situated as they were on the river, they had many strange and sometimes shady characters passing through. Bard had been roughed up and mugged once in his youth by a few men passing though on some shady business, and continued to be a little wary of strangers still.

“If you plan to rob me, you needn't waste your time.” Bard called out, not bothering to turn. “I have no coin.”

“Oh, I'm not here for your coin.”

Bard whipped around so fast he lost balance and almost fell, which garnered a laugh from the shadows of the closest shop. Bard steadied himself, and squinted into the darkness. “Are you out of your mind? What are you doing here?”

Thranduil stepped out from the shadows. “I desired to see you.”

“I don't care what YOU desired. You can't just show up here!”

Thranduil grinned. “I'm a King. I can do what I want!”

“King of Mirkwood, not bloody Laketown! You need to leave.”

Thranduil took a few steps closer to Bard. He appeared to unsteady on his feet. “And what if I don't?”

Bard gaped at the Elf. “Are you drunk?” He hissed.

Thranduil laughed loudly, and held up a bottle. “Recognize this? We were supposed to split a bottle of it two years ago. That didn't work out though did it?”

“Gods, how much have you had?”

“Do you know how hard it is for an Elf to get drunk, bowman? Even on this stuff, it takes a lot. And I've had a lot.” He took a long pull from the bottle, and then held it out to Bard.

Bard was having a rough time controlling his anger. “You can't just show up here! Especially drunk, Thranduil! You need to go.”

“Thranduil? No KING? No MY LORD? We're on a first name basis are we?”

Bard rolled his eyes. “You're not acting very Kingly.”

Thranduil snorted. “How would you even know, BARGEMAN. What was Kingly? This is part of the joy of ruling! You drink as much as you want, say what you want, go where you want...”

“That's great, but you need to go!” Bard hissed.

“I thought you'd be happy to see me.” Thranduil said. The pout on his lips was a little dramatic, but the hurt in his eyes actually looked genuine.

Bard sighed, and closed the gap between the two of them, trying to get Thranduil to keep his voice down. “Don't...don't take it as me not being glad to see you. That's not the case. But you can't just show up here...drunk especially! What if someone were to see you? See me with you? Tell my wife?”

Thranduil was looking at the ground, the look on his face pained. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“How do you stay so strong? How do you not come to me? There are days that I can barely endure it. The dream walking...I thought it would be enough. I am not strong enough for this.”

Bard felt Thranduil's pain so deep in his own chest he could barely breathe. Did he think Bard didn't desire to come? That this was easy for him? Seeing such a strong and proud figure brought to such despair was almost too much. Without thinking Bard reached out to stroke Thranduil's cheek.

“You mustn’t ever doubt that....” Bard struggled to find the right words to use. Thranduil's eyes met his, and before Bard could finish, Thranduil grabbed the front of Bard's coat, pulling him in to a sloppy, drunken kiss.

Bard's head was spinning. He had long dreamt of this moment, of those lush, full lips pressed to his. Thranduil's hand came around the back of Bard's head, tangling in his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. Bard's arms encircled the Elf's waist, pushing the length of their bodies together, he had waited so long for this...he had...fuck, what was he doing?

Bard pushed himself away from Thranduil with such force it knocked the drunken Elf a little off balance. Bard had his fingers to his lips as if it they burned, his eyes wide.

Thranduil smiled smugly. “You can't deny you've desired that, Bard...”

“You have no right.” Bard said, his voice cold, his eyes blazing with anger. “You come to my home, you...”

“Oh much like you came to MINE, bowman? Do not think I have forgotten the blatant disregard for my requests for you to stay away? Taunting me with your...”

“I WAS A KID!” Bard yelled, far louder than he meant to. “I was a a boy, and more importantly I wasn't married! I didn't have a family! There was NOTHING for me to screw up then! No one for me to hurt!”

“No one for you to hurt?” The anger was mirrored in Thranduil's eyes as well. “No one for you to HURT? I do recall you being the one who ran off and got married.”

“No. Don't you dare do this.”

“Do what?” Thranduil hissed, coming in close to Bard once more. “Speak what's been on your mind? Speak what you lay awake and worry about? That you put an end to this before it even had a start? That you were scared?”

“Stop.” Bard warned. “This is not on me. You told me to leave. You told me not to come back.”

“So you get married?”

“What else was I to do? Wait for you? Hope that you'd eventually decide that you were interested? Pine away and hope that the great Elven King Thranduil would change his mind and come fetch me?”

“I did come to you, or have you forgotten that?”

“FOUR YEARS!!” Bard cried out. He could feel tears stinging behind his eyes. All these thoughts and feelings after all these years bubbling to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him. He knew he should lower his voice, he knew he should walk away, but this had been a long time coming. “Four years you waited! Four years you left me to wonder what I had done wrong and pour over every word I had said to you. Four years, Thranduil!”

“Four years is nothing. You could not give me that much time? Instead you throw yourself into the bed of some dumpy village girl and hope that will ease your mind?”

“Watch your goddamn mouth.”

“Hope that maybe you can fuck her enough to convince yourself that what you feel for me isn't real?” Thranduil leaned in even closer to Bard, his voice dropping. “Try to convince yourself you haven't made the wrong decision?”

Bard had grabbed the front of Thranduil's robes before he had a chance to think of the consequences, and as quickly someone grabbed Bard roughly from behind and threw him to the ground before his rash actions went any further. Bard rolled to his back to be greeted with an arrow in face, and the horrified face of Tauriel at the other end.

“Stay down.” She said, her voice pleading. “Bard, don't move...”

“Tauriel...”

“Please.” She said, her eyes begging. Legolas appeared over Tauriel's left shoulder, and the female Elf visibly stiffened.

“You are lucky Tauriel drew on you, and not I, bargemen. Or you would not have had a chance to plead.”

“I won't plead.” Bard said stubbornly, ashamed of what had just taken place. “But since I'm assuming you two have been lurking in the shadows the whole damn time you'll know this isn't all my fault.”

“You assaulted the King.”

“No, I grabbed that drunken mess that was shooting his mouth off. He's lucky I didn't assault him.”

“I'd hold my tongue, bargeman.” Legolas replied, his eyes darting to Tauriel.

“Lower your bow.” Came Thranduil's voice from behind the other two Elves.

Legolas glanced over his shoulder. “Hîr vuin...”

“I am the King, and Tauriel's bow is mine to command, and I command her to lower it.”

Tauriel looked visibly relieved as she followed the orders, and Bard climbed up off the ground. He felt ashamed for how he had acted, but part of him still really wanted to smack Thranduil.

“I apologize for my actions.” Bard said to Legolas, making a point not to look at Thranduil. “It was rash, and from a place of anger, and I thank you for not acting rashly in return.” Bard took a deep, shaky breath. “That being said, I would love very much to go home to my family.”

Legolas nodded curtly. “I believe it wise for you to leave as well.”

“Bard?” Thranduil called out, his voice strained, “Bard, wait...”

Bard held up his hand, gesturing for Thranduil to stop speaking. “I have nothing to say to you. Assuming that I still have my job with your kingdom, I want that to be our only contact. Is that understood?” The pained look on Thranduil's face was killing Bard. All of this was killing Bard. He couldn't put himself through this any longer. “Understood?” His voice was tight.

Thranduil's eyes were pleading. “If that is what you wish.”

Bard nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and turned to leave. He needed to go.

“Bard.” Legolas called suddenly. Bard paused and turned to look at the Elf. Legolas said something quietly to Tauriel, who turned and went to her King. Thranduil took one last long look at Bard, and then allowed himself to be escorted away by Tauriel, back towards where Bard assumed their horses had been left. Legolas walked towards Bard, but then seemed to no longer be sure of what he wanted to say.

“Why did you allow him to come?” Bard finally asked.

Legolas looked surprised. "I don't allow him to do anything. He came on his own. I was not able to find him in his halls, but Tauriel thankfully seemed to have a good idea of where he would be. We arrived after you two were already...talking.”

Bard felt himself flush. Great. They had seen that to. “I don't know where to begin with apologies for this whole mess...”

“You have apologized already for the only thing you needed to apologize for. My father can be very impatient when it comes to something he desires.”

Bard was having a hard time meeting the Elf's eyes. This was probably one of the most uncomfortable conversations he had ever had. “So I trust you know about this whole situation.”

Legolas appeared to be almost as uncomfortable as Bard felt. “My father is not one to...hide how he feels. He likes to talk...even more so when he's had his wine. I apologize for his state this night, and as much as I would like to promise he won't pull a stunt like this again, I think we both know him well enough to know that is a promise I cannot make.”

“I told him not to come back.”

Legolas smiled, the first time Bard had seen him do so. “Did that stop you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I really am. This ended up WAY angstier than anything I ever planned on writing. When I asked on tumblr if you guys wanted drunk!Thranduil, I had intentions of making a really funny chapter with lots of sass...that didn't happen....


	11. November 12, 2921

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some good news for Bard, finally.

The past few weeks had been hard for Bard. Sigrid had been sick for what seemed like forever, battling a fever that didn't seem to want to quit, the poor little thing flushed and crying almost the whole day, every day. Her first birthday came and went with very little celebration, her too sick to play or really eat very much. Bard felt Frida had been much more upset about that then Sigrid had been.

As it stood now, Sigrid was well, and her sweet, happy self again. She was sitting on the kitchen floor with Sylvi, playing with the wooden animals Bard had carved her for her birthday. He was glad she was well enough to enjoy her little gifts, and he chuckled as he heard Sylvi trying to get her make the noises the animals would make, but all Sigrid would say was “Da.”

“You guys alright for a bit longer?” Bard asked Sylvi. “I want to take some soup in to your sister.”

“We're great, aren't we Sigrid?” Sylvi said, tickling her niece's belly.

“Da!” Sigrid replied happily.

Bard was still chuckling to himself as he nudged open the bedroom door with his hip, hands full with a bowl of soup and a cup of tea. He wasn't sure if Frida was awake or not, and unfortunately, if not, he'd have to wake her up. She needed to eat. Whatever Little Sigrid had contracted had now been passed on to her mother apparently, and Frida had been down and out for the past two days.

Frida, and Sigrid before her, being so ill seemed almost a physical manifestation of Bard's guilt over what had happened with Thranduil. As irrational as it was, Bard felt that somehow he was being punished for his indiscretion with the Elf King, especially since Frida had been so kind and understanding when they had originally talked about the whole thing. He wanted to tell her what had happened...that night when he came home she had known something was wrong with Bard, but it had played it off as just being exhausted and hungry, and she had accepted that. Also, Sigrid had been sick, and Bard had not wanted to lay more upon her mind. Now Frida was sick as well, and two weeks had passed.

Frida rolled over to look at Bard as he entered the room. “Hello, love.” She said with a smile. She looked pale still, but sounded better.

“Hey there.” Bard said, setting the bowl of soup down on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

“Better than yesterday.” She said. Bard handed her the tea, which she sipped gingerly. She laid back on the pillows, and sighed. “It was nice to finally get some sleep.”

“I bet,” Bard replied, brushing some stray hairs off her forehead. He laid the back of his hand on it. “You feel cooler. That's a plus.”

Frida nodded. “How's Sigrid? Is she eating?”

“Like a horse. She wants to see her Ma though.”

Frida smiled. “I am just worried about getting her sick again so soon.”

“I think she should be okay. You seem to be improving. I want you to eat this soup, and then sleep a little more. Then I'll bring her in.”

“You made soup?” Frida asked, looking surprised.

“Well, Sylvi made soup. I didn't want to make you sicker.”

“I thought it smelled too good to be yours,” Frida teased. She took Bard's hand in her own, both resting on her stomach while she rubbed the back of his with her thumb.

“I'm glad you're feeling better.” Bard said. “I have a hard time keeping up with Sigrid on my own”

“It's good practice.”

“How do you mean?” Bard asked, confused.

“Because you'll have to keep up with her mostly on your soon,” Frida said, turning Bard's hand and pressing his palm to her belly. “Because I'll need Sylvi to help me with the new baby.”

Bard stared at his wife, a huge smile slowly spreading on his face. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” She said, laughing at the look on his face. “When the healer came yesterday, she confirmed what I had been starting to suspect.”

Bard's face suddenly became serious. “But this illness...”

“Meredith assured me the baby will be fine. I'm strong, and recovering fast, and she doesn't foresee any problems.”

Bard leaned in gathering his wife into his arms, planting kisses on the top of her head. “This is amazing news!”

“I was hoping you'd think so,” Frida replied with a laugh.

Bard released her, and gently guided her back onto the pillows. “Now, you eat this.” Bard said, giving her the soup. “And get some more rest. Sigrid and I will be in to check on you in a bit.”

“Alright, my love.”

Bard closed the door behind him, and tried to contain his glee. Another baby. Sylvi was eyeing him warily from where she sat on the floor, no doubt confused by the look on Bard's face.

“How is she?” Sylvi asked, cautiously.

“Fantastic.” Bard replied, squatting down on the floor beside Sigrid, who reached up to clutch Bard's fingers.

“Da.” She said, as usual.

Bard planted a kiss on her head. “We're gonna have to teach you a new word perhaps, my sweet.”

“Yes, try 'Sylvi',” her aunt chimed in.

“I was thinking maybe sister.” Bard said, looking slyly at Sylvi.

“Sister? Why sister?”

“Well cause she'll be one soon.”

Sylvi stared at her brother-in-law, who was grinning from ear to ear. It took a moment for realization to dawn on her. She screeched and flew up off the floor and towards the bedroom. Bard could hear Frida laughing before the door was even open.

“Just a few moments, then let her rest!” Bard called, knowing they wouldn't listen to him. Bard flopped down on the floor next to Sigrid, who promptly grabbed his nose.

“Da?”

Bard laughed. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of hearing that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought maybe a happy little chapter after the angst of the last one.
> 
> Let's pretend all Bard's problems have disappeared (la la la la I can't hear you after my avoidance).
> 
> What?? Two chapters in one day?


	12. April 29, 2922 (Age 24)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard and Frida welcome a new edition to their little family.

Bard wasn't entirely sure when he had fallen asleep, and was a little ashamed to realize he had done so. Frida had gone into labour last evening...right after supper actually. They had known it was coming soon, and Bard had been hanging close to home the past week just in case, and sure enough her water had broken as Bard had been clearing the table.

Four hours in, and there had still been no baby. Sigrid had come quickly...shockingly so. Even the midwife had said it was rare for a first birth to have gone so fast and smoothly. Not so much this time around. The four hour mark was when Bard had been kicked out of the room. Frida's distress was upsetting him, and him being upset was distressing her more and finally the midwife had thrown him out. He took Sigrid from Sylvi, who went in to be with her sister, and thankfully stuck her head out to give Bard regular updates, although there was not really much to tell.

The whole situation was hard on little Sigrid as well. She obviously had no understanding of what was going on, nor why she could not see her Ma. The noise and coming and going from the bedroom had her quite worked up, and the poor little thing was beside herself. Bard had finally bundled her inside his coat against his chest and taken her outside to walk about. He told her stories, and talked about anything he could think of and thankfully, that had done the trick, and when he was sure she had fallen asleep, he had gone back to the house. Still no baby, however.

Eventually, Bard had sprawled out on the settee with Sigrid on his chest, hoping to keep her asleep. He lay in the dark, wondering what was happening in the room, hoping that since things seemed to be a little quieter that maybe he would be able to see his wife soon. Bard must have been more exhausted than he had realized, for he fallen asleep as well. It was his sister-in-law's voice that woke him up.

“Bard?” A whisper, very near his ear. “Bard, wake up.”

His eyes fluttered awake, to find Sylvi's face very close to his own. “Huh?” He muttered sleepily. “What time is it?”

“Close to three. You going in to go see your wife, or what?”

Bard chuckled quietly. “You just want me off the couch so you can go to sleep.”

“Damn right.” She replied, taking her niece gently from Bard's arms. “I'm beat. I've got her. You go see Frida.”

Bard sprung up off the couch, and could barely keep himself from excitedly bounding to the bedroom. Frida would be exhausted, and he didn't want to go flying in there like a kid on Christmas morning. He paused outside the door, gathering himself, then pushed it open quietly.

The midwife was still bustling about the room, gathering up her tools and medicines. Frida was propped up on many pillows in the bed, tendrils of her hair loose and damp around her face, her cheeks flushed. Bard had never seen her look so beautiful. The baby was swaddled in her arms, and she was gazing down at the small bundle, smiling. The door creaked as Bard opened it a little further, and her gaze turned to him, her smile growing.

“My love,” she said, quietly. “Come and meet your son.”

Bard couldn't contain himself, and rushed to her bedside, coming down onto his knees to gaze at the small wonder his wife held in her arms. “How are you doing, love? Are you okay? Is he okay? He's healthy?”

Frida laughed. "I'm fine. Exhausted, but fine, and he's perfect." She pulled the blanket away from the baby's face so Bard could look at him. “He looks very much like his Da.”

“Poor thing,” Bard replied, laughing.

Frida shushed him. “I think his Da is very handsome, I'll have you know.”

“But nowhere near this perfect.” Bard whispered, brushing his knuckle along the baby's plump cheek.

“But now the real question,” Frida said, gazing at her husband. “What are you going to name him?”

Bard looked at her, startled. “Me? I just assumed you...”

Frida laughed. “Oh no. Do you remember how long it took me to name Sigrid? Poor thing was nearly a week with no name. I think it makes sense...he's a boy, he'll carry on your name...you should pick.”

Bard gazed at the little boy in front of him. It was true, he did look very much like Bard. Same hazel eyes as Bard, and a surprisingly grim face for such a little guy. He also reminded Bard of someone else. “Bain...if that's well enough. He reminds me of my grandfather with that little furrowed brow.”

Frida gazed down at the babe. “Bain.” She whispered. “Yes, I think it quite suits him.”

Bard grinned. “I cannot wait to introduce him to Sigrid.”

“That will have to wait.” Chimed in Emlyn, the midwife, from over Bard's shoulder. “Your wife needs to get that little one to nurse.”

Bard laughed. “Well, I didn't mean right this moment. Am I allowed to stay?”

“As long as you're not bothering you're wife.” The midwife replied curtly.

Bard rose from the floor, holding his hands up. “I'll just sit here in the chair. You won't even know I'm here.”

Emlyn studied him for a moment, then nodded. Bard leaned down to plant a kiss on his wife's head, and then got out of the midwife's way. He walked around the other side of the bed, dragging the rocking chair closer with much scraping and noise, warranting a glare from the midwife. He held up his hands again, apologetically, and quickly set down, not planning on doing anything that would warrant him being kicked out again. He propped his chin on his fist, and watched without making another noise. He lost track of time gazing at his beautiful wife, and his beautiful son and waiting patiently for his turn to hold him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about such a long wait for such a short and uneventful update guys :( But hey look! Bain's here now! *confetti*


	13. June 12, 2922

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last thing Bard wants to deal with today is Thranduil.

Bard damn near just kept on polling his barge right on by the dock when he came around the bend in the river to see the one lone figure of Thranduil standing there waiting for him. “No. Just please...no.” Bard muttered to himself. He didn't want this today. Things had been going great for him. There was tonnes of work in the town, the Master for whatever reason was staying off his back, and his little family was doing wonderful. Sigrid was the proudest big sister you had ever seen, and it seemed that every time he looked at Bain that the child was bigger. Bard had even managed to put away enough extra coin to expand their little house a bit. Things were going good. Things were going good WITHOUT Thranduil. Gods, what had he done to deserve this?

If Thranduil took any notice of the grim look on Bard's face, he wasn't letting on, waving his hand by way of a greeting as Bard came in to dock. He was standing by himself on the pier, that day's shipment of empty barrels piled to his left. He wasn't dressed in his usual finery, wearing a dark green tunic, with leggings and tall brown boots. A simple silver circlet was open his forehead, his hair loose around his shoulders. He did seem a bit nervous perhaps (Bard couldn't help but feel a little bit of satisfaction at that), for he kept wringing his hands together, and although smiling, it looked hesitant.

“King Thranduil.” Bard called, tying down the boat, but not bothering to get off, or even look at the Elf King. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Or are you drunk again?”

Thranduil's brow furrowed, although that Bargeman wasn't looking at him to see it. “I thought...I thought that it would be appropriate to apologize for my actions”

Bard snorted. “About six months too late for that, I think.”

“Six months...” Thranduil said thoughtfully. “I suppose...that would be a very long time.”

Bard leaned against the side of his barge, folding his arms and finally looking at the other man. “You do like your wine, don't you?”

“I don't think you understand that time works differently for us, Bard ...you brought that up the other night...”

“Six months ago.” Bard interrupted.

Thranduil frowned. “Yes, you brought that up six months ago...how I waited for four years...I don't think you realize four years is nothing to an Elf...barely even a ripple in the pond....Although I would to do well to remember the same can not be said for you.”

“You're right. It can't. A lot can happen in four years. You can get married. You can start a family...”

“You can realize how much of an idiot you've been,” Thranduil said sheepishly.

Bard studied the Elf, getting angrier that he didn't want to be angry at Thranduil. He didn't want to fight, to say hateful things. He didn't want it to be months between seeing one another. He didn't want to rush to forgive him and say it would all be okay. He wanted to be mad. He wanted to punish him...he wanted to rush into his arms...

Bard pushed himself away from the side of the boat, trying to not to let Thranduil see his cheeks flushing. “I realized that long before four years.” Bard said. “And you're an idiot for coming here today. You somehow thought me having to do all the work myself was going to put me in a jovial mood?”

Thranduil looked around at the barge, and at the barrels stacked on the dock, realization showing on his face. “Oh...yes, when I decided to come I dismissed the dock workers...I wasn't thinking, I guess...”

“Shocking” Bard muttered.

Thranduil frowned. “They'll obviously return to transport the barrels. You'll just have to take off your load and put these few on...”

“Oh really? That's it, is it?”

Thranduil rubbed his fingertips across his brow, looking distressed. “I find myself apologizing again, Bard. I had made up my mind to come and speak with you, and I assumed you would like it done privately...”

“You got that much right.”

“I'll take my leave, and send them back. I'm sorry for wasting your time.”

“Or you could just help me...” Bard threw out, with a shrug. He glanced over his shoulder at Thranduil, and couldn't help but laugh at how horrified the other man looked.

“I'm not sure I am appropriately dressed for such work...”

Bard laughed harder. “You're probably right. Plus I wouldn't want you to break a nail...”

'Well, that's not fair...”

“Or mess up your hair.”

Thranduil made an exasperated noise. “I can never tell when you are genuinely angry with me or not, and it can be quite distressing!”

Bard's face softened. He paused moving the barrels and turned to look at Thranduil. “Honestly, I don't know if I am angry with you or not most times. That stunt you pulled in the Town made me angry...you said some hateful things. But I think a lot of that comes from hurt...and that's where a lot of my anger comes from...that and confusion.”

Thranduil lowered his eyes. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“Nor I you, but unfortunately that seems to be the nature of this thing. A lot of hurting. And I don't rightfully know if it's worth it, but it seems I can't change how I feel.”

“I don't want you to change it.”

Bard nodded. “Aye. I can say the same for you. Also, I do forgive you, but I am still quite angry with you, to be honest and I'd like to get on with my work if I could.”

“Yes, of course...go ahead.” Thranduil replied. “I'm sure you are anxious to get home...I hear your little family is growing.”

“That it is. However, I don't recall mentioning it.”

Thranduil smiled. “No, you did not. Tauriel told me.”

Bard couldn't help but grin at that thought of Thranduil questioning Tauriel about him...trying to get information out of her. Bard hoped Tauriel made him work for it too. “It's not as difficult with two as I had thought, to be honest. How many do you have?”

“Just my son, Legolas. Elves don't normally have more than one child. That cradle I sent to you was his, long ago. I will have no use for it again.”

“It is beautiful. As happy is Sigrid is to be a big sister though, she was mighty angry when she found out that Bain would now have her cradle.”

Thranduil laughed, a wonderful but rare sound that Bard found himself wishing he could hear more often. “I shall have to send something along to her to ease her pain.”

“Oh no, you really don't have to. That cradle is probably worth more than my whole house.”

“Doubtful. Although I put a lot of time and love into it, I'm sure it's value is not that high.”

Bard looked surprised. “You made that? That's incredible.”

“When you live for long years such as I have you acquire many skills.”

Bard nodded. “I suppose that makes sense. What do the words carved at the foot of it say.”

Thranduil smiled fondly, his eyes warming at some distant memory. “It says 'Tithen Las' which means 'Little Leaf', in my tongue”

Bard chuckled at that. “It's hard for me to think of Legolas as such, to be honest.”

“That's what I always called him when he was small. I doubt he even remembers that now.”

The two men chatted easily about their children, and Bard about his own childhood. Bard picked away at his work and at some point amidst the conversation Thranduil ended up helping as well. The time went by quickly with pleasant company and Bard realized very early on that as much as he wanted to be angry at the Elf King, that he really couldn't be. He also realized this had been the first time the two of them had really just talked...about their lives, about their kids...and Bard really quite enjoyed it.

Bard finished arranging the last of the barrels on his barge for the trip home, and wiped his hands off on his dirty pants. “There. Was that so awful?”

“Not as bad as I would of thought, I suppose.” Thranduil replied. Bard couldn't help but chuckle. The Elf still managed to not have one hair out of place.

Bard came to stand beside Thranduil, bracing his hands on the railing and looking out over the water. “I really do appreciate it.”

Thranduil smiled. “It was worth it to get to talk with you for awhile.” He looked at Bard out of the corner of his eye. “Do you realize what today is?”

Bard thought for a moment. “June...12? I believe? They all seem to run together as I get older.”

“I know that feeling all too well,” Thranduil said with a chuckle. “I may be awful with time, but I am quite good with dates.” He tentatively and gently reached out and laid his hand over Bard's. “It was this day we first spoke in the woods.”

Bard nodded, gazing at Thranduil's porcelain hand resting against his own brown and weathered skin. “Aye. Seven years ago now, it would be.”

“It seems like it's been much longer, even to me.”

Bard glanced up at the Elf. "I enjoyed today. Just this. Just talking, just being together. Thank you.”

Thranduil closed his eyes, bowing his head slightly. “Me as well. It has almost made everything else worth it...”

The two men stood there silently for a long while, Thranduil's hand resting on Bard's, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of the others hand. A touch of pink was starting to appear in the sky, and Bard was just starting to notice how hungry he was. Thranduil finally broke the silence with a soft sigh.

“I suppose you must go before it gets dark,” he said softly.

“I really should. I'm sure your workers will want to finish before then as well.”

Thranduil gave Bard's hand a small squeeze. “Safe travels, Bard. Na lû e-govaned vîn.”

Bard returned that night home without a heavy heart, and with a smile on his lips. He still wasn't sure what he was doing, or if it was even right to be doing it, but he had enjoyed his day, he had enjoyed the time he had spent with Thranduil, and was just as fiercely happy to see his wife and little ones. He just kept clinging to the hope that as long as it all stayed balanced, and nothing tipped in favour of one or the other that he could keep on being happy, and keep all those who he cared about happy too, and that this all may just work out in the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look!! A happy chapter! With happy things! And no fighting! I wasn't sure on the ending...almost seemed a little abrupt and I am sorry if you agree, but it just seemed since a nice moment to end it on...


	14. October 15, 2922

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Would you guys be upset if I just casually skip a summary?)

"You, Brynn and the kids will have to come to supper some night soon!” Bard called down to Percy, from his current position straddling the peak on the roof of one of the guardhouses. “Saturday, maybe?”

“Should be fine.” Percy's voice came from below. “Have to check with the wife of course.”

“Of course. Let me know by tomorrow if you can!” Bard wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It was warm for this far into October. Warm enough Frida had said she might take the kids out with her this morning for a walk. “Good for another bundle of shingles, I think!”

Bard had taken the job of re-shingling several of the guardhouses at the entrances into the Town. The Master had only wanted to pay for one person to do it, but Bard had managed to talk him into allowing Percy to help him out. Percy was quite a bit older than Bard, but Bard had known him his entire life and considered him his closest friend. Bard knew Percy could use the money from this job as much as he could.

Percy appeared at the top of the ladder, a bundle of wood shingles balanced on his shoulder. “How is your little guy doing? Growing like a bad weed, I imagine.”

“Sure is. Seems like he's bigger every time I look at him.”

Percy laughed. “They're like that the first years. Seems like one day they are just learning to sit up, then they're taking off running. Then you're in trouble.”

“I can only imagine. I'm on the verge of a heart attack half the time now just with Sigrid walking and getting into things. I'll be a wreck with two of them at it.”

“Nah, it gets a little easier with each one. It gets a little less scary.”

“We'll see.” Bard said with a laugh. “How is Tristan liking married life?” Percy's oldest son Tristan had gotten married about two weeks prior. “Percy?” Bard glanced at his friend when he didn't respond.

The other man was standing still at the top of the ladder, squinting off into town. Bard followed his gaze, and it took a few moments before he figured out what the other man was staring at. “Is that Evan?” Bard asked. Evan was Percy's youngest boy.

“Looks like.” Percy muttered, frowning. “Wonder why he's coming in such a hurry?”

As the boy got within earshot, they could hear him yelling not for his father, but “Bard!”, in between ragged breaths. Bard was now frowning.

“What are you screaming about, boy?” Percy yelled, coming down from the roof.

“Pa!” Evan gasped, skittering to a stop at the foot of the ladder. “Ma sent me. Bard! There's been an accident.”

Bard was on his feet an halfway down the ladder before the boy could say any more. “Accident? What accident?”

“She's fine, but Ma said I should...”

“Who's fine?” Bard demanded.

“Sigrid, but Ma said...”

Bard was off at a dead run before Evan finished speaking. He flew through town, dodging people and jumping from walkway to walkway and taking every short cut he knew. Halfway towards his house he had the horrible, stomach-dropping thought that he didn't know if that's where they were or not but that was where he was headed. Too late. He'd have to go there first.

He skidded around the last corner that blocked his view to the house, and thank the gods, he could see Frida sitting on the step, holding Sigrid in her lap.

“Frida!” Bard cried, running harder towards his wife.

Frida's head snapped up, and she burst into tears the moment she saw Bard. By the time he came to his knees in front of them she was sobbing so hard she could barely talk. “It's all my fault!” She choked out.

“Is she okay?” Bard asked, frantically pulling the blanket wrapped around Sigrid away from her face, touching her cheeks, her hair...looking for marks or blood. Sigrid wasn't crying, but it was obvious she had been, her eyes red and puffy, and she was still sniffling.

“I'm wet.” She said, a pout on her lips.

“Yes, yes you are.” Bard said, rubbing her cheek. His brow furrowed, and he looked up at Frida. “Wait, why is she wet?”

Tears were still streaming down Frida's face. “I only looked away for a second...Bain was fussing and I let go of her hand for a second to adjust him in the sling...and...and...” She dissolved into sobs again, hugging Sigrid to her.

Horrible realization dawned on Bard. “She fell in the lake?”

Frida nodded. “It was only a second I let go of her...she was right beside me...Oh gods, I'm a terrible mother!” She was planting kisses in Sigrid's wet hair. “Baby, I'm so sorry.”

Bard leaned in so he could envelop both his girls in a hug. “Frida, it's okay. She's fine!”

“It's not okay!” she wailed.

Bard couldn't help but smile. He leaned back so he could look at his wife's face. “We're going to make mistakes, darling. She's okay! You're not terrible!” He put his hand under her chin and tilted her face up so she was looking at him. “Could of been worse...you could of dropped them both in.”

Frida looked for a moment like she was going to wail again, but a weak, half-hearted smile broke through. “That's an atrocious thing to say.”

“It made you smile though.” Bard chuckled. “Or did Bain fall in too? Where...?” Bard actually took a moment to look about him. He had been in such a state when he ran up that he hadn't even seen anything but Frida and Sigrid. He was speechless to now see Tauriel standing at the top of the steps, a very content Bain in her arms. “Tauriel?”

The Elf smiled awkwardly. “Good afternoon, Bard.”

Bard looked to his wife, confused. “I don't understand...”

“She saved her.” Frida said, casting a genuine smile over her shoulder at Tauriel. “I heard the splash and barely had time to react when she rushed by me and was in the water....”

“Why were you here?” Bard asked, still gazing at Tauriel. Her mouth opened, and closed, not appearing to know what answer to give.

“Bard!” Frida gasped. “She just saved your daughters life. Don't you dare be rude to her.”

Bard nodded, but his face was still grim. “Yes. Yes, forgive me, Tauriel. I am in your debt.”

The Elf inclined her head towards Bard. “I am just glad I was able to get to her fast enough. The water is very cold this late in the fall.”

“Yes...Frida, you should take Sigrid inside. Heat some water and we'll get her in a bath and warmed up.”

Frida nodded at her husband, and rose from the step she had been sitting on, Sigrid still bundled tightly in her arms. As Frida came to Tauriel at the top of the steps, she reached out and put her hand on Tauriel's shoulder. “Thank you again, Tauriel. I cannot say it enough.”

Tauriel's hand came up and clasped the other woman's. “I'm just glad she's okay.”

Frida went inside the house, and Tauriel came down the steps to where Bard stood. She was smiling uncomfortably again. “I suppose I owe you an explanation, Bard.”

“Did he send you?”

“Not explicitly, no. The King had suggested I keep an eye on you...your family if I had the time to spare. I've never came before today, mind you. I promise.”

Bard raised an eyebrow. “Then why did you come today?”

“I just had...a feeling.” Tauriel said, seeming to have a hard time picking the right words to explain. “It happens occasionally...I get thoughts...impressions, feelings about a person. Not always bad, mind you. Sometimes it's good things coming.”

“Like a premonition?”

“Almost, I suppose. I have no visions, like some of the others of my kind get. Just...feelings. Late last night I had an impending feeling of dread pertaining to you...so I came to the Town last night...I waited...watched. When your wife and children left the house this morning, I realized it was coming from them, not you. So I trailed them on their walk...” Tauriel looked at Bard sheepishly. “I sincerely hope I haven't upset you, Bard.”

Bard sighed heavily. “I don't know whether I should be flattered or pissed off that Thranduil thinks I need looking after...but I am grateful you were here today, whatever the reason that brought you.”

Tauriel smiled, a genuine one this time. She looked down at Bain in her arms. “I forget how small they are. It's been so long since there have been any little ones in our kingdom.”

“I am surprised he's being so calm. He won't let anyone hold him that he doesn't know. He even fusses with Frida's sister, and she's around him all the time.”

Tauriel ran her fingers softly across the baby's cheek. “He's been a pleasure.” She looked up at Bard. “You are indeed a very lucky man.”

Bard smiled. “That I am.” He took Bain from her arms, and the baby promptly started wailing at being taken away from her. “Seems he's fond of you, as well!”

Tauriel laughed, and planted a quick kiss on Bain's head, and took her leave of Bard. She disappeared so quickly he didn't even see which way she had gone. He wished he had something he could do for her or offer to show his gratitude for what she had done. He shifted Bain in his arms, who was still fussing about being taken from Tauriel. “Come along, wee one. Let's go see to your Ma and your sister.”


	15. August 22 2923 (25)

Bard did not want to go away on this job, but he needed to do it. They desperately needed the coin and there was too much here to pass up. Percy had somehow found his way into a job building the roof on the new meeting hall at a town down the river, and had secured a spot on the crew for Bard as well. It was a fair distance away from Laketown, and they would be gone about a week. They pay was incredible though, and Bard knew they would need it.

 Frida was about 7 months pregnant or so, as best as they could figure, and had been ill almost the whole time. She had started feeling sick like she had with Bain, so they suspected that she may be with child again, and they had rejoiced. However, Frida did not get better. She kept getting sicker. The healer was there regularly, as well as the midwife and these people needed to be paid. Also, soon another mouth would need to be fed. Bard was sick to his stomach at the thought of leaving. They needed this money though.

 Sylvi would be staying with his family of course, and Bard's mother-in-law popped in quite frequently, so he knew his wife would be in good hands, but still, he worried. The midwife thankfully ensured that everything seemed to be well with the baby, and the healer also assured that Frida would be fine once the baby had been born. She had been sick with Bain as well. These things happened. Being pregnant was a lot of strain on the mother's body. She needed lots of rest. She'd be fine. Bard tried to let their assurances comfort him.

 It was early morning, before dawn, but Bard had barely slept at all anyway. Frida had been violently ill most of the night, and had just finally in the past hour or so stopped being sick, and fell into a fitful sleep. Bard had not, but instead lay awake watching his wife, who was drenched in sweat and muttering in her sleep.

 Bard rose quietly from the bed, and began to dress. He hoped she would stay asleep, and receive some much needed rest. He did not want to leave. Every fibre of his being was screaming at him to stay with her. If anything happened he was a two day boat ride away...

 He finished dressing, and sat down in the rocking chair by their bed to pull his boots on. He heard Frida mutter something, and when he glanced up at the bed, he could see her eyes glistening back at him in the first light from the window. She was so pale...

 “I woke you.” Bard said with a frown, “I'm sorry. I was trying not to.”

 “It's okay.” she replied, her voice hoarse. “As long as Bain doesn't wake soon I should be able to go back to sleep.”

 “Leave the children to your sister. She's taking fine care of them. You rest.”

 “This shouldn't be her burden.”

 “They aren't a burden for her in the least. Her world revolves around those kids.”

 “I shouldn't be her burden.” Frida murmured, her eyes welling with tears.

 “Hey, hey.” Bard hushed her, leaning across the bed to take his wife's hand. “No talking like that. You're carrying our child inside of you, and it's hard work and no one thinks you a burden for needing rest.”

 “I don't know why it's been so hard this time...” she whispered, rubbing her protruding belly. “I worry I've done something wrong...”

 “There is nothing you could of done wrong, love. Or differently. You were sick with Bain too...maybe we should have just waited longer in between.”

 Frida nodded, still rubbing her belly. “It will be worth it when I get to hold this little one.”

 “Aye, it always is.” Bard replied, moving his hand to rest over her's on her stomach. “I must ask again...”

 “Yes, you need to take this job.” Frida replied firmly. “We desperately need the coin. It's only a week. The baby won't be here for a while, and I'm certainly not going anywhere.”

 Bard frowned. “I hate leaving you like this...”

 She smiled a weary smile. “There is nothing you can do for me here, love. I'll rest. Sylvi is a great and stern nurse. I'll be in good hands.”

 “If you're sure...”

 “I am.” She replied, as Bard leaned over further, and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Now go make us a pile of money.”

 Bard smiled, and pulled back to look her in the eyes. “I love you.”

 “I love you back.” She said sleepily. “Now hurry on. The sooner you go, the sooner you'll be back.”

 Bard planted another kiss on her head, and with a heavy heart and troubled mind headed out to meet Percy. Gods willing, the weather would be good and they could work fast enough he wouldn't even have to be gone the week...


	16. August 30 2923

At the time Bard returned from his trip Frida had not been awake in two days. A relative of her family was watching the kids at her house, and Sylvi just sat quietly at her sister's bedside, a constant stream of tears running down her cheeks. Bard sat quietly on the other side of the bed, holding his wife's hand. He had not said a word since the healer had apologized, saying there was nothing more he could do. All they could do was hope. And wait.


	17. September 3 2923

Bard stirred awake at the sound of his name. He had been sitting in his usual spot beside his wife's bedside. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, his head resting on his folded arms. He looked quickly to his wife, sure he had heard her speak his name.

“Bard?” A whisper again, but from the door. Not from his wife.

Bard sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What Sylvi?”

“There is a woman here. She wishes to speak with you.”

“I don't care to have any visitors.”

“She said she won't leave.”

“It's my damn house. She'll leave.”

“Bard...”

“Dammit, Sylvi, I said I...”

“She's here on orders from the King!” Sylvi blurted out over top of his words.

Bard turned to gaze at his sister-in-law. “The KING?”

“Yes. The King.” Sylvi said, fidgeting, and glancing over her shoulder into the living room. “Bard, will you please just come speak with her?”

Bard hoisted himself up from the chair, his muscles stiff from sleeping slouched over the bed. He knew it had to be Tauriel, and the thought of seeing her actually comforted him. He entered the kitchen to find her squatted down and the floor, speaking to Sigrid and Bain. She was speaking so quietly he couldn't catch her words, but the two little ones were enraptured.

“Bard,” she hailed him, straightening up. “I was just telling your small ones that maybe since it was so nice out that if they asked really nicely, their aunt may take them outside to play?”

Sylvi looked from Tauriel to Bard, taking a moment to realize she was politely being asked to leave. “Oh, uhhh, yes. Of course. Come one guys.”

Bard and Tauriel watched as Sylvi gathered Sigrid and Bain up, quickly getting their shoes on and herding them out of the house. As soon as the door shut, Tauriel turned to Bard.

“King Thranduil would like to know why you didn't show up for your duties today.”

Bard stared at her, blinking slowly. “I'm sorry?”

Tauriel swallowed hard, her mouth set in a grim line. “You did now show up for your duties today.”

Bard's brow furrowed. Realistically he didn't even know what day it was, but they couldn't honestly have expected him to work today? To be away from Frida...Thranduil had paid him a brief visit last week when he had made his delivery...Bard had told him Frida was ill.

“My wife is sick.”

“He is aware. You have a contract, however.”

Bard shook his head in disbelief. “Why are you acting like this?”

Tauriel wouldn't meet his eyes. “I've been sent to instruct you that you have duties to perform, and you are expected to perform them. I was told to deliver this message, and return immediately.”

“Tauriel, she's very ill...I don't think you realize...I don't think..I think she's...” Bard's voice cracked, and he couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Tauriel looked even more distressed, her eyes darting everywhere but Bard. “I...I know how ill she is. But...”

“What do you mean?”

“S...Sorry? I just mean that I had been told...”

“No. You said you know how ill she is. How do you know how ill she is?” Bard could hear how frantic his own voice sounded. “Tauriel...Tauriel, can you help her? Do you know what's wrong?”

The Elf shook her head vigorously. “I didn't mean anything. I just meant I knew she had to be very ill for you not to have come...”

“DON'T!” Bard yelled, and Tauriel finally met his eyes. “She is DYING!” He choked out, not able to contain the tears any longer. “And if you can help her, if you know what to do...”

“Bard, you don't understand...”

“No, YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! That woman is my LIFE!”

“Bard, I cannot help her.”

"You can't know that...”

"I do, Bard. There is nothing I can do.”

“Hows do you know that?”

“CAUSE I ALREADY TRIED!” Tauriel cried, losing her composure.

Bard stared at the Elf, the silence humming between them. Bard was breathing heavy, his shoulders shaking and Tauriel's cheeks were flushed. The two stared at each other, Bard's face full of confusion.

“What do you mean?” He finally whispered.

Tauriel, hesitated, as if she wasn't going to answer. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “She sent for King Thranduil while you were away.”

Bard stared at her, stunned. “She what?”

“She sent for the King, and he came. Don't ask me what they spoke of, Bard, I do not know. But he asked me to try and heal her, and I tried Bard. I tried until I was almost to weak and spent to stand. There is a sickness growing in her body, and it it too deep and too large for me to heal. I put her into a deep sleep...she is in much more pain then she lets on.”

Bard's body was shaking with silent sobs, his teeth clenched. He thought his legs would give out. He had worried...he had suspected..but by gods, he had hoped he was wrong. “She...Will she wake up?”

Tauriel nodded. “She will. It's not permanent. But her pain will still be there, and her sickness will still be there.” Tauriel's own eyes were welling up. “She knows how sick she is, Bard. She's so strong, and she's fighting so hard, but she will lose.”

“Don't. You don't know that.”

“I do, Bard. I'm so terribly sorry. She asked me if I could save her...”

“And you told her no? You told her to give up?”

“No!” Tauriel said, horrified. “But I told her I would do what I could to ease her pain. And I have. And she made me make a promise.”

“Of what?”

“To save your baby.”

Bard choked out a sob, tears running freely down his cheeks. “And can you?”

Tauriel frowned. “I have done what I can to try and ensure she will be okay...but if Frida gets worse, and the baby comes early I can make no promises.”

“She?”

“Sorry?”

“You said SHE. The baby. The baby is a girl?”

“Oh, yes. I suppose. Sorry...I never thought...”

“No, no. It's okay...I just...does Frida know?”

“Yes, I told her. And she wanted me to tell you that if she...if she doesn't get to meet her...”

Bard held up his hand, gesturing for her to stop. “I can't. No more right now. I'm sorry. I can't talk about her as if she's already gone...”

Tauriel nodded sadly. “Would you like me to leave?”

Bard sighed heavily. “I'm sorry for how I've acted, Tauriel..”

“No, don't be. I understand. Well, as least as much as I can, I suppose.”

“Aye...I forget. That's why Thranduil would have expected me to be at work today. He wouldn't even begin to fathom what is happening.”

“I think he does more than you know. He would never expect you to come today...he wanted me to check on you, but without having you know I was checking on you, it would seem...”

Bard shook his head in exasperation. “Showing he cares isn't one of his stronger skills.”

“He tries though, in his own way.” Tauriel sighed. “I must apologize...I did not want to come to speak to you. I did not want to be the one to tell you this news....”

“I know. I'm glad it's you though. I'm glad you're here...”

Tauriel took a few steps towards Bard, her arm moving as if she meant to reach out to him, and thought better of it and hesitated.

"I will leave you to tend to your wife. I won't be far, though. I've also been instructed to stay close.”

Bard smiled sadly. “Thank you.” Tauriel nodded, and turned to leave. “And please, tell him thank you as well.”

“I will,” she replied. With that she took her leave, and Bard sunk down into one of the kitchen chairs, the weight of what he had just been told too much for him to bear, and trying with everything he could to not completely give up the last shreds of hope he was so desperately clinging too.


	18. September 5 2923

Bard wasn't sure what time it was, but it was still dark out. The hours had been running together. He didn't know how long he had been sitting at the kitchen table. It felt as if he had been awake for days. All was quiet again in the house again, but the night was raging outside, mirroring the turmoil and pain Bard was feeling inside himself. The rain was pounding the house, driven by howling winds of a storm the had come in sometime before he had awoken. He could hear thunder in the distance.

*****     *****     *****     *****     *****

Bard had been awoken earlier by Frida's moans, but had been shocked to see her eyes staring back at him in lamplight, glazed and feverish but open. He had rushed to her, falling to his knees at her bed side. He had lost almost all hope to be able to look into them again. He was touching her cheek, her hair, almost frantically, murmuring that he was there, how glad he was to see her awake.

She looked terrified, her eyes wide and darting. Bard was sure she must be confused. He didn't know how much she remembered, how aware she was of where she was and what had happened. He continued to whisper soothing things to her, knowing he needed to fetch the healer, but loathe to leave her side now that he had her back.

Frida's lips parted, trying to speak. She dissolved into a fit of coughing. Bard helped her to slowly sit up, as he frantically looked about to try and see if there was any water within arms reach. When Frida spoke, her voice was dry and ragged, one single word: “Emlyn.”

“We'll send for her in the morning, love. Right now, I must get Sylvi to fetch the healer. I'll be back in...”

Frida shook her head frantically, her hands clutching at her stomach. “Emlyn. Please.”

Bard's brow furrowed. “Frida, the baby...?”

She shook her head harder, her eyes welling. “It's too early.” She choked out. “She can't come yet. It's too early.”

Bard shot to his feet. “The baby is coming? SYLVI!!” Bard screamed his sister-in-laws name. She came bursting into the room a few seconds later, hair wild and eyes frantic.

“What's wrong? Is she...” Her gaze went to Frida in the bed, and her hand flew to cover her mouth when she saw her sister awake. “Frida...?”

“Stay with her. I have to go fetch Emlyn.” Bard said, searching for his boots.

“The midwife? Is she...?”

“She said the baby's coming. Get her some water. I'll be right back.”

Bard flew out into the cold, driving rain. He went down at least a few times while running for the midwife's house, losing his footing on the slick boards of the walkways through the town. The storm was driving the lake in waves up onto the roadways, and Bard was soaked to the skin by the time he was pounding on the midwife's door and screaming her name to be heard above the raging storm.

Her face was grim when Bard told her Frida said the baby was coming. “Fetch the healer as well. As fast as you can. I'll be at your house by the time you get back.”

****** ****** ******  
Bard was enraged upon returning to his home with the doctor for not being allowed in to see his wife. Emlyn had assured him it was better for him to not be in the room. This was going to be very hard on his wife, and he did not need to see it.

“But she'll be okay?” He demanded.

“I can't give you an answer to that, Bard. She's been ill for weeks and the baby is coming too soon. It's too early to tell. I'm sorry.”

Bard sunk down into a chair beside Sylvi at the table. Her eyes were red rimmed and swollen. Her voice hitched as she spoke.

“I...I don't know if she's going to be okay...”

“They'll do everything they can, Sylvi.”

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. “I know...she's bleeding though. A lot. More than the other times. I'm sorry...I didn't know if I should say anything but you left and there was so much blood and I was so scared, Bard...”

Without saying a word, he reached over and took Sylvi's hand in his. She squeezed it hard, desperately clinging to him, to hope...Bard could feel tears running down his cheeks as well. They'd get through this. They always do. He'd have his wife back and his little baby girl and they'd be a family again. They'd all be okay...

****** ****** ******

Bard wasn't sure how long they had set there in silence when the bedroom door finally opened. Bard shot up out of his chair. “How is she?”

Emlyn smiled weakly, looking exhausted. “I was wondering if I could borrow Sylvi for a moment?”

Bard's face fell. “I want to see my wife.”

“You will, dear. I just need her sister for a moment...”

Sylvi looked at Bard, and he nodded. With a last apologetic look, she followed the midwife into the room. Bard slumped back into his chair. Only a few moments had passed when the door opened again. Bard looked up hopefully only to see the healer come out. He set his bag on the table, and sunk down wearily into a chair across from Bard. With a sigh, he began to speak.

“Bard, I just wanted to talk to you for a moment before you go in to see Frida...”

Bard nodded. “Sylvi said she had been bleeding badly. Worse then the other times...”

“Yes. This happens sometimes in childbirth. The womb is damaged...during the birth perhaps, or maybe even before. Your wife has been sick for quite some time, as I understand. Off and on for years. I had thought it to be just normal sickness that goes with child bearing, but I have begun to think I may have been wrong...”

“Why? Is something else wrong with her?”

“Well, you've no doubt heard of people with the wasting sickness...they take ill, and there is nothing we can do. It's generally the very old that it befalls. They develop an illness, and they just get sicker and we can't find anything that stops it. Unfortunately it does seem to happen to the young at times...it's something inside, usually attacking one of the organs it would seem. However, it being internal, we don't usually discover it until later stages...and by then all we can do is try and help with the pain...”

“Are you saying...are you saying that's what my wife has? This wasting sickness?”

“I can't be sure...but that's what it would seem. I have seen it several times in younger women...it often appears to be within the womb.”

“The baby...?”

“It doesn't affect the baby, except in the unfortunate circumstances where the baby comes too early, and does not survive. You're little girl is beautiful, however. A little small but she's healthy.”

Bard let out a ragged sigh of relief. “Can I see her?”

“In a moment. Bard...” The healer set forward in his chair, looking in Bard's eyes, his face grave. “In my experience, women who have this illness...the birth is always very hard for them, Their body is already weak from the illness, which makes it harder. They also tend to lose a lot of blood, and where the injury is internal...”

“What are you saying...?”

“I'm saying that when you go into that room...you should be prepared to say goodbye to your wife.”

Bard felt as if all the air had been pulled from the room. He couldn't breathe. Despite everything that had happened, he had hoped...against all of it he had never truly let himself believe that his wife wouldn't be okay....

“Is she...is she in pain?”

“I've made her as comfortable as I can. She'll be groggy...from the herbs, and from the loss of blood. She may not make much sense. Or she may just fall asleep. But just be with her...she'll know you're there.”

Bard and the healer turned at the sound of the door opening. Emlyn appeared, followed by Sylvi with a small bundle in her arms. Syvli was sobbing, her face red and wet from tears. Bard rose slowly from his chair, as she brought the baby closer. She was so tiny...his pinky finger bigger than her whole hand. “She's so small.” Bard murmured. “How can she be okay and be so small?”

“She should be alright. She's a little bigger than most born this early.” Emlyn replied.

“But how will we...with Frida...how...?”

“They'll send for a wet nurse.” Sylvi said quietly, rubbing the baby's small cheek. Her eyes came to meet Bard's. “She's awake still...go to her. I've got the baby.”

“I'm not ready...” Bard whispered.

Sylvi nodded. “None of us are.”

****** ****** ******

Frida was so pale...she was laying back on the pillows with her eyes closed, so still that for a moment Bard was scared he had been too late. He approached the bed timidly...she was breathing still, but it was faint. He set down gently on the edge of the bed.

Frida's eyes fluttered open, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of her dry lips. “Hello, my love.” She said quietly.

“You do know me. They said you might be a little foggy.”

“Of course I know you.” She reached her hand up as to stroke his cheek, but she was shaking so badly...Bard grasped her hand, and lowered it back to the bed, continuing to hold it. “Did you meet our little girl?”

Bard smiled. “Not officially. I just said a quick hello then came in to see you. She's perfect.”

“She is. And so tiny. Sigrid will adore her.”

Bard could feel his eyes welling up. He was trying so desperately to hold it together. At what point did he say goodbye? At what point did they admit that that's what this conversation was? What was he supposed to say? “Bain and I are outnumbered now.”

“Not for much longer, I fear.” Her words cut into Bard's heart like a knife. He couldn't hold it inside any longer, and the tears rushed down his cheeks.

“You don't know...don't say...”

“I do know, love. You know too. I'm so glad that I got to meet her. Before...”

“I'll make sure she knows you. Everything about you.”

“I would like that very much.”

Frida grimaced...her teeth clenching. Bard didn't know how much pain she was still in. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back faintly. Her breathing was starting to become a little more shallow. Bard's heart was pounding. He wasn't ready.

“The pain...the healer said he gave you something...”

“He did...it's slowly working. Hopefully I will just kind of...drift off to sleep as it were...” She paused, her eyes beginning to water. “Make sure you take care of Sylvi too...”

Bard nodded. “I will do my best. I'll probably need her help more then she needs mine.” His shoulders were shaking. His voice cracked as he spoke. “I don't think I can do this alone...” He dissolved into sobs, his body racked with them. Frida's hand came up to stroke his hair.

“Shhhh, darling. Just love them and hold them and protect them. You’ll do fine. You've been doing fine.”

“With you! I can't do this without you, Frida. I'm so sorry, it's so selfish but I can't. I can't do this alone...”

“Then don't do it alone.” She replied quietly. Bard lifted his head to look at his wife, her cheeks wet with tears as well now. “I sent for him...I made him promise...”

“Thranduil..?”

She nodded, closing her eyes again against the pain. Her voice was strained with it when she spoke. “You don't have to face this alone.”

Bard leaned down, pressing his lips to her forehead. He spoke the words against her skin. “You are the most amazing person I've met in my life. There can never be another for me after you.”

“I know. He felt the same. But, he'll be ready when you are.”

“Frida, please, I can't...not now...I can't...”

She tilted her chin, pressing her lips to his. He kissed her back as hard as he dared, and when they pulled apart she was gasping for breath, and both their tears were mingled on Bard's face. “My love, I am so very tired...” she whispered. Bard nodded, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "Will you please, just hold me until I fall asleep...?”

Bard nodded, trying to force a smile through his tears, and climbed onto the bed beside her, gathering her into his arms, her head resting on his chest. “I love you, darling.” He whispered into her hair.

“And I you.” The quiet stretched on for a few moments. When Frida spoke again, her voice cracked, “Love our babies enough for me too.”

“I promise.”

The house was quiet again. Frida's breathing was shallow. The thunder was closer now, but the rain seemed to be letting up. Bard leaned his head back against the wall, and thought of another night...just barely more then four years ago...that he had sat like this, listening to a storm as well, holding his new wife as she dozed in his arms. He whispered the same thing to her now that he had then.

“Are you still with me, love?”

This time, she did not answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so, so sorry that this took so long. Thank you to everyone that has stuck with this and stuck with me. It means the world to me.
> 
> This chapter was much harder to write then I had ever dreamed. I had to stop a few times cause I was sobbing. I'm sorry Bard. I'm so sorry to have done this to you.
> 
> Hopefully I can come past my writers block and anxiety about all this and start writing again more regularly. Again, thank you all.


	19. September 9 2923

Bard buried his wife the day after what would have been their fourth anniversary. The past four days had been an exhausting blur. There were so many people coming and going from his house that he had not had a moment to himself, not even to sleep, with Sigrid and Bain snuggled in bed with him. Honestly, he was glad of it...he didn't know if he could sleep in that bed alone.

Sylvi had barely left the house, and the midwife was there constantly as well. Bard thought she must leave some times, but then again maybe she didn't, he really wasn't sure. Frida's parents were in and out, her mother cooking and fussing over the children, her eyes constantly watery. Percy had been in a few times, bringing food from his wife, clothes and toys for the kids; stuff his own children had outgrown. Many other faces, some of old friends, some just familiar, bringing food, and quiet words, and small gifts for the children. Bard heard their hushed condolences, gave the appropriate nods and accepted handshakes and hugs when offered. It was all a blur.

Sigrid and Bain both asked for their Ma quite often. What did you tell them? They were still just babies. What could you say to ease their cries? How could you explain the couldn't have their Ma? He tried his best. Sigrid seemed to grasp that she was gone, but not really why. But they'd go back to playing together, to enjoying the influx of toys and little gifts, all the visitors and they'd forget for a brief moment...

Bard didn't get those brief moments. His wife wasn't across from him at breakfast. She wasn't there when he went to sleep. She wasn't there to hold their babies. To help with dinner. Her laugh didn't echo off the walls of this small house any longer. She wasn't there. She was wholly and completely gone from his life. He still didn't know how to carry on.

Today, the day of the funeral had dawned misty and damp. He moved in a fog. Eating the food Sylvi placed in front of him, not tasting it. He washed, and dressed in the best clothes he had, the clothes he had worn 4 years ago on their wedding. His wife would be wearing a fine green dress she had loved dearly, and one that Bard had loved to see her in. A dress she had sewn herself and saved up for months to be able to buy the fabric for. She looked like she had stepped out of a fairy story in it. Now she would never again have to take it off.

He didn't know if the children should come to the funeral. Not only because it was a cold and rainy day, but he didn't know if it was something they should have to be put through. Sylvi assured him they wouldn't remember anyway...which made Bard think there was even less of a point of making them go. Frida's parents felt they should be there, and Bard was is in no mood to argue.

The ceremony was cold and bitter. He had held both Sigrid and Bain for the whole thing, baby Tilda bundled in her aunt's arms. Sigrid had began crying, not so much because she knew what was going on, but because Bard could not stop the tears from spilling over at the sight of the rough, wooden coffin, and this distressed Sigrid greatly to see her Da crying. He had gone out of his way during his wife's illness to not break down in front of his children. He could not hold back the tears today.

Frida's father was speaking now. Bard could hear his voice, but was not really absorbing his words. He had asked earlier this morning if Bard had wanted to speak as well. Bard didn't know if he could, and that sort of things made him nervous, which would just make it even worse. He spoke of his daughter's life, of how deeply in love her and Bard were, about their three sweet children. Stories of Frida and Sylvi when they had been children. Bard stared at the ground. Tried to hold himself together.

Sylvi tugged at Bard's arm gently. “It's time," she whispered.

Bard took a deep, shaky breath. They would be placing her in the ground. His wife. The mother of his children. It was customary for the family to approach and lay flowers upon the casket before the grave digger began his work. He approached slowly, handing off Bain to his grandmother, who would help him to lay his own small bundle of flowers. Bard stood Sigrid on the ground, and squatted down in front of her.

“Do you remember what you're supposed to do, love?”

Sigrid nodded, her eyes darting towards the coffin. “Is Ma in there?”

“Yes, sweetie.”

“Sleeping?”

“Sort of.”

“When can we wake her up?”

Bard smiled sadly, and gave Sigrid her little bundle of flowers. “We can't wake her up, Sigrid. I'm sorry.” Sigrid nodded, her eyes welling with tears. Bard scooped her up in his arms, kissing her cheek. “Remember? We talked about this, right?”

“I know. I miss Ma.”

“I know. Me too.”

They approached the coffin, and Bard leaned down so Sigrid could place her flowers. Bard placed his on top as well. Pausing, he kissed his fingers, and laid them on the lid of the rough wooden box. “I love you, Frida.” He whispered, tears threatening again.

“Love you, Ma.” Sigrid said.

Bard kissed her cheek again. He could feel many eyes upon him, and stepped away so others could approach. He had said his goodbyes to his wife the night she had passed, and didn't feel the urge to spend any more time being stared at. He stood off to the side, waiting for Sylvi to finish speaking to a relative. He finally caught her eye, and she excused herself, and approached. Tilda was asleep nestled in her arms.

“Well, that's that, I suppose.” She said with a deep sigh.

Bard nodded. “It wasn't as bad as I had feared.”

“It doesn't feel real yet...”

“If this is going to feel worse, I'm not sure I can get through it.”

Sylvi smiled sadly. “Anything you need, Bard...don't hesitate to ask.”

“You've done more than I can ever repay you for.”

“You needn't worry about repaying me,” she replied, patting his arm. “Listen, I was thinking, if you want to take a night for yourself, everyone would understand. Our house will be bustling, the kids will be entertained...no one would blame you.”

“I should be there...what will people think if I'm not? It's custom...”

“Screw custom. You've barely had a second to yourself. Take tonight. We've got the kids. We'll bring them and more food then you can ever eat in the morning. Do what you need to do. Say your own goodbyes. Get raging drunk. No one has any right to judge you.”

Bard could feel his eyes welling up again. “Thank you, Sylvi.”

She shrugged. “It's nothing.”

Bard looked at Sigrid, who was still in his arms. “You want to go spend the night at Nana's?” Sigrid's eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously. Bard planted a kiss on her cheek, and put her down. “Go with your Aunt Sylvi, okay? Da will see you in the morning.”

“Bye Da!”

“If you slip away now, I think no one paying attention.” Sylvi added.

“Thanks again, Sylvi.”

Bard slipped off, taking a quick alley exit that he knew no one would be near. He sighed deeply. This had been the first time in a week he had been alone. He trudged towards home, pulling his coat tighter around him against the wind. He had a few bottles of wine and thought maybe drinking himself into oblivion would be the best course of action.

When he entered the house, it was silent. Something it had not been in years. Bard's heart sunk...maybe he shouldn't be alone tonight. Maybe he should just change his clothes and go to his in-laws. No. No he needed to stay. He needed to able to be alone. To be in this house alone. Of course, the children would be there most times...but when they grew up and left him..he'd be alone again. Now even he would need to learn how to sleep alone...something he had not done in a long, long time. Bard kicked off his boots, and went to get a bottle of wine. It was going to be a long night...

****** ****** ******  
It was late...dark now, when there was a soft knock on the door. Bard stirred. He had obviously fallen asleep at some point. He was sitting in his chair, and had been out long enough that when he straightened up his neck and back protested. The house was dark, no lamps lit. Bard waited...maybe he had imagined it. He stood up, stretching as his back protested further. He began to unbutton his shirt, getting ready to head to bed when he heard another soft knock. Bard stumbled towards the door, still reasonably drunk, apparently. He pulled open the door, and realized at that point he must be dreaming.

A tall figure stood outlined in the moon light, a deep hood pulled over their head. Their face was masked in shadow, but Bard knew by the height and bearing it could only be one person.

“I'm in no mood for your devilry tonight.” Bard said flatly, moving to close the door.

The Elf's hand shot out, keeping the door from shutting. “What devilry would that be?”

Bard waved his hand drunkenly. “The magic. The dream stuff. Whatever it is. Not tonight.”

“This isn't anything...I just thought maybe you'd need a friend.”

“This isn't a dream?”

“No...”

“Then why are you here?”

“I just stated that...”

“You're in Laketown and you're not drunk?”

“No, but it would appear you are.” The two men stood there for a moment, looking at one another. Finally Thranduil sighed. “Are you going to invite me in?” Bard stepped back, pulling the door open and making a clumsy attempt at a bow. Thranduil sighed. “I thought you could use a friend tonight, Bard. If you're going to be rude, I'll leave.”

Bard shut the door quietly, and they were now in the dark. “I'm sorry...I'm not trying to be rude. It's been a long day.”

“I can imagine.” Thranduil replied. “I won't keep you long...I just wanted to check in. How are you doing?”

“As well as I can be, I suppose.” Bard could hear Thranduil moving around, and suddenly the lamp on the table began to flicker to life. “I'm still decently drunk at the moment, so that's helping.”

“Don't let that become a crutch. It's not actually helping. You know that.”

“It's understandable to get drunk tonight, I think.”

“I'm not saying it isn't justified. I'm just saying it will only help for so long.”

Bard watched as Thranduil unfastened his cloak, folding it and laying it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. He was in quite plain clothes, much like the ones he had worn when Bard had met him all those years ago. Breeches and a tunic, tall boots, all shades of green and brown. No crown or adornment on him at all. He still looked as though he didn't belong in Bard's plain little house, however.

“I'm very sorry for your loss, Bard.” Thranduil said, his eyes coming to meet the other man's. “And for that of your children.”

Bard sat down heavily on the settee. “She didn't deserve this.”

“No she didn't. And neither did you.”

“She said you came to her...”

Thranduil nodded. “Yes, I did. She asked me to.”

“What did she ask of you?”

Thranduil looked slightly uncomfortable. Bard almost smiled. It was rare to see him lose his composure. It was almost endearing. “I thought you two had discussed it...” Thranduil replied.

“Not at length. She said she asked you to 'take care of me', as it were.”

“Not take care of you...be there for you...make sure the children have everything they need.”

“And you accepted?”

“Of course I did. She didn't even have to ask. I would do everything I could to ensure your family is comfortable, Bard.”

“And what do you get in return?”

Thranduil looked confused, brow furrowing. “What do you mean? I expect nothing in return.”

“Then why agree to it?”

“To see you happy, and well. Bard, I'm almost hurt that you would think I had another motive. You...you must know that I care for you...”

“And now that my wife is gone...”

“ENOUGH!” Thranduil snapped, cutting him off. “You have every right to be in a foul mood tonight, but you will not take it out on me. I cared for you when your wife was alive, I care for you now, and I will continue to ensure your well-being, and that of your children long after you are gone even if there is no benefit to me ever. Because you are dear to me, Bard. Because I made a promise to a woman that loved you enough to give us her blessing, even if nothing ever comes of it.”

Bard stared at him, his eyes welling with tears. “I'm sorry.” he whispered, lowering his head into his hands, trying to conceal his tears. “I don't...I don’t mean to...I don't know to get through this...”

Bard felt the seat beside him shift, could feel the warmth the emanated from Thranduil. The Elf's voice spoke quietly beside him. A strong hand came up onto Bard's back, rubbing circles, soothing him. It was too much. All of this today. Bard's shoulders shook with sobs, and Thranduil pulled him gently into his embrace, and Bard allowed himself to be wrapped in warm, strong arms. Bard finally let go, choking and sobbing on the pain of the loss of his wife. Thranduil held him, making soothing noises, his hand rubbing over Bard's back, his shoulders.

Bard finally pulled himself back from the embrace, wiping tears off his face. “I'm sorry...”

“What on earth do you have to apologize for?”

“This...I'm sorry. This can't be easy for you.”

“Why are you worried for me? She was your wife, Bard. You have a right to grieve this loss.”

“I just feel like it's inappropriate to make you sit through that grief...”

“You're not making me do anything. Bard, I care about you. Your wife was, and will be, a piece of your life forever. You have children. Her memory will always be with you. As it should be. The pain will ease, and eventually you will be left with the happiness, and the love you two got to share.”

Bard's brow furrowed. “You speak as if...”

“As if I know what you're going through? I do.”

Bard studied the Elf. “You lost your wife? I guess I just thought...you don't speak of her...you said you weren't married...I just assumed you had never been...”

“No, I was married. Elves wed for life. Legolas would not be here if I had not married. Something of that sort doesn't happen in our world..”

“I never knew...I'm so sorry...all this time I've been...this must have been so hard for you.”

“I told you, you needn't worry about me. This is your time to grieve, not mine.”

“Was it long ago?”

Thranduil nodded. “Ages in the lives of Men. Legolas remembers her, but barely. Duvainel was her name. She was beautiful...raven hair and eyes as dark as the night. She was my life.”

“How did she...I mean, I thought that Elves...”

“We can live forever, as it were, but we can still perish in battle the same as any Man. Sickness does not touch us, nor time. A blade can pierce us the same as you, however. When we were waging war on the Darkness at the gates of Mordor, a party had been dispatched from Greenwood to the fortress of Gundabad to rescue any prisoners that had remained after the Orcs and abandoned it. My wife was one of the healers in that party, for her skills were unparalleled. The Orcs however, had no deserted it, and were laying in wait for the Elven party they knew would approach. They were waylaid, and taken as prisoners. I lost my father in the battle of Dagorlad, and returned home to find I was now a King who no longer had a queen...Durvainel had lost her life in the dungeons of Gundabad.”

Bard stared at Thranduil in horror, his grief doubling for his friend's pain. “I'm so sorry," he whispered, his hand reaching out as if he meant to stroke Thranduil's cheek, but he faltered.

Thranduil pulled Bard back into his arms. “This is not the time for my grief. I've had time to come to terms with my loss. I still cherish her memory, but it's no longer painful. That will pass for you too, Bard. I promise.”

Bard's head was tucked under Thranduil's chin, and the warmth and the wine and the emotional drain of the day was beginning to make his eyes grow heavy. “You must need to go back soon...”

Thranduil didn't say anything for a few moments. “I can stay, if you want me too,” he said tentatively.

The thought of not having to sleep alone was appealing, but Bard felt the sour boil of guilt in his stomach at the thought of having him stay on the day he had buried his wife. “I'm not sure if...”

“My intentions are pure, I promise. But I understand, Bard. Just know you can always send word, and I will be here...”

“How can you just run off from your Kingdom all the time?”

“I'm the King. I do what I want.”

Bard laughed. “Somebody has to run it.”

“I do run it, and when I'm away, others run it. It is a peaceful kingdom, and when the people you are ruling live for thousands of years, you would probably be shocked by how little governing I actually have to do.”

“You'll raise questions if you are here all the time.”

“Are you worried what people will say?”

“I'm worried what the Master will say.”

“He'll be much too worried about offending me, or someone that I am apparently friends with, to bother you. This may be beneficial to you.” Thranduil's thumb was rubbing circles on Bard's shoulder. Thranduil smiled to feel the other man shifting to snuggle more closely against his body. Thranduil had not been this close to another in a long, long time. He hoped there would be more moments like this. “You can also come to Greenwood when you wish...you and the children.”

“Right” said Bard through a yawn. “Cause I'd fit right in there.”

Thranduil laughed. “I think you would. Would you like to call it a night, perhaps? You are sounding tired...”

Bard yawned again. “Just stay a few moments longer?”

****** ****** ******  
Bard awoke to pounding on the door. He opened his eyes, blinking in the sun that was streaming in through the windows. It looked to be late in the morning, and he assumed it to be Sylvi and the kids at the door. It took him a moment to realize he was still on the settee, and still in his clothes. He smiled however to see he had a blanket thrown over him, and that there were dying embers in the fireplace, although he had not lit a fire. He sighed, heaving himself off the couch. He had made it through his first night, it would seem.


	20. December 19 2923

Bard lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling and grinning like an idiot. This evening had been the first time since Frida had passed that everything had felt normal. Tilda had finally taken to drinking goat’s milk so they no longer had need for the wet nurse, which Bard was grateful of because that woman drove him insane. His house finally felt like his again. Sylvi was still there quite often, watching the children whenever Bard was working. Bard had even started doing the barrel run to Mirkwood once more, which meant seeing Tauriel quite often again, which was nice. He had told her she could drop by anytime (the kids ADORED her), but she always declined. He had a feeling she didn't like the attention that she received when she came into town.

The children were doing well, all things considered. Tilda was thriving, healthy and happy despite her early arrival. Bain was walking around fairly steadily, and the constant shadow of Sigrid, who was already a mother hen to her younger siblings. Bard was amazed at the care and love she showed her brother and sister already. She was going to be an enormous help once they all got older. He hoped they continued to be this close with one another.

Bard was comfortable in his routine at this point. He found it soothing. He kept as busy as he could, working himself to the point that he fell into bed exhausted at the end of the day. He had even started bringing work home with him some nights, mending fishing nets, repairing barrels, and the likes of that. He was trying to save up enough money to hopefully expand the house a little. Right now, all three kids were crammed in the tiny bedroom off the main living area, Sigrid and Bain were sharing a bed, and Tilda in the cradle. It was working for the time being, but they would need more room soon. It would be years before any of the kids were old enough to be moved up to the small loft over the kitchen.

Bard and Thranduil had even started to fall into an easy routine. Thranduil had been visiting quite frequently, but always after dark, and always when the children were in bed. They had never discussed it formally, but had decided in that unspoken way that people do, that maybe Thranduil should wait to meet Bard’s children. They had just lost their mother after all, and Bard wasn't sure how they would react to someone else being around that wasn't family. Also he wasn't completely sure what to call what was happening between them…

Up until this night, everything had been chaste. It was always the same evening every week, and Bard just assumed that must be the easiest night for Thranduil to be away from his kingdom. Sometimes the two of them would manage to have a meal together, depending on how early the kids went to bed. However, the two of them spent most of their time talking…hours and hours of talking. They had so much of their lives to share with each other. Thranduil had centuries of stories to tell, and Bard was happy to listen. Sometimes Bard would lay on the couch, his head in Thranduil’s lap, just listening to that deep voice while the Elf lovingly ran his fingers through his hair. Bard had also fallen asleep like that more times than he liked to admit, Thranduil’s soothing voice making him lose the battle with exhaustion at the end of a long day of work.

They had not even kissed, as painful as that was. Bard had wanted to so desperately so many times, but had held himself back. He assumed if Thranduil wanted to take it that one step further, then he would. Sometimes the sound of that voice, or the grace with which the Elf moved was enough to make Bard grow hard, his cock straining against the front of his pants. Many of night he had found himself pumping into his own fist, late and alone in his bedroom, desperately wishing to find that release with Thranduil.

Tonight, Bard couldn't hold himself back. It had been a long work week, and he would finally have a day off tomorrow to spend with his children. It was long overdue. Thranduil had come for his weekly visit, this time bringing wine, knowing that Bard would be able to indulge a little bit since he would not have to be up at dawn for work the next day. The exhaustion and not having eaten had sent it straight to Bard’s head. Elf wine was strong, and he was flushed and a little foolish while only on his second glass. The two of them were snuggled up on the couch, Bard’s arm draped lazily around Thranduil’s shoulders. The Elf had his head leaned back, eyes closed.

Bard was listening to the other man talk, but not absorbing any of it. His eyes were glued to that mouth…those lips. His thoughts consumed with all the things he wanted to do to that pretty mouth. All the ways he wanted to violate it. Thranduil continued to talk, and Bard slowly reached his hand over and rested it on Thranduil’s thigh. The Elf continued to speak, unphased if he had noticed the contact. Bard was shocked by how hard his heart was pounding. He felt like a teenager! He slowly slid his hand up higher, up to the Elf’s hip, his fingers ghosting just a little further…

Thranduil’s eyes slid open, gazing heavy lidded at the other man. “The wine had gotten the best of you, I think.”

Bard chuckled. “It’s got nothing to do with the wine.”

“It’s making you brave.”

“Making me brave? Meaning I'm not any other time?”

Thranduil’s eyes slid shut again. “I never said that. However it did take you two glasses of wine to get your hand on my thigh. I am curious as to what you could get your hands on after one more.”

Bard inhaled sharply, his cock already throbbing. “That sounds like an invitation.”

“The invitation has always been there. You just had to accept.” Thranduil’s eyes opened once more to glance at Bard, and Bard was on him before he had a chance to say anything else.

Bard crushed his lips to the other man’s, and Thranduil kissed him back just as hungrily. Bard wasn't sure how he had gone this long without those lips on his, and how he would ever be able to go on now without them. Bard pulled back just for a second, to clamp his teeth on the Elf’s plump bottom lip, biting a little harder then he meant to, but pulling a gasp from Thranduil none the less.

That almost pushed Bard over the edge, getting a reaction from the usually stoic Elf, knowing that for whatever reason this beautiful creature wanted HIM, that he was making Thranduil moan and writhe. Bard smiled into the kiss. “You seem to have lost your composure.”

Thranduil laughed, the sound rumbling in his chest. “You tend to do that to me,” he said, still breathing heavily. He grasped Bard’s hand, pulling it into his lap, grinding the bulge in the front of his robes up against Bard’s hand.

Bard groped awkwardly, realizing as he grasped what felt to be a fairly sizeable cock through the fabric of Thranduil’s robes, that this was the first time they had gone this far. Bard didn't realize he was staring at his hand in the Elf’s lap until Thranduil spoke:

“If you desire, I can take it out.”

Bard felt himself flush. His hand faltered. “I just…um, I just realized…I mean, I guess I didn't…”

“You did realize that if you were to be with a man, you were going to have to see a cock?” Thranduil asked teasingly, grinding against Bard’s hand again. Bard felt his face grow hotter, if that was even possible. Something in his eyes when he finally met Thranduil’s must have showed his apprehension, for the Elf King’s brow furrowed. “Bard…have you not been with a man before?”

Bard shook his head, averting his eyes. “I know what that entails obviously, I just never gave much thought to it actually getting to that point, I suppose…”

“Pity. I think about it quite often…”

Bard laughed “This is serious!”

“Yes, very.” Thranduil purred, leaning forward as he pushed Bard back onto the cushions. He nuzzled the other man’s neck, tongue and teeth working the sensitive skin on Bard’s throat, his earlobes, his collarbone…every inch of skin he could each. “If at any point you want me to stop, just say.”

“You’re making it awful hard…”

“Oh, am I?” Thranduil replied, rolling his body against the length of Bard’s, grinding his cock against the bulge he could feel in the front of the other man’s breeches.

“You’re wicked,” Bard growled, his hand coming up to grab a handful of Thranduil’s hair, pulling the Elf in to a rough bruising kiss.

Thranduil writhed on top of him, grinding their cocks together. The fabric between them was driving Bard mad. He wanted skin on skin. He wanted to feel every inch of that porcelain skin pressed against his. Thranduil pulled out of the kiss suddenly, lips moving to Bard’s jaw and neck once again. The Elf’s nimble hands made quick work of the buttons on Bard’s shirt, and then that mouth was on his chest, teeth biting at his nipples making him gasp and grind back harder against the other man.

Thranduil continued to kiss down Bard’s chest, his stomach, stopping at the waistband of his breeches. Bard could barely control his breathing. His mind kept darting back to the night Thranduil had visited him in his dream…to the Elf on his knees in front of Bard…ready to take him into his mouth. Bard moaned loudly, and Thranduil’s eyes darted up to meet his.

“May I?” The Elf asked, his voice thick with want. Bard took a deep breath, and nodded. Thranduil shifted further down Bard’s body, but paused frowning.

“What is it?” Bard asked, worried that perhaps he had done something wrong.

“I was just thinking perhaps you would rather…” He didn't finish the sentence, but rather pulled Bard up into a sitting position, then climbed off the sette. Bard raised an eyebrow, feeling a little nervous about what may be happening....until he realized what Thranduil was trying to re-create as the Elf dropped down onto his knees in front of the other man. “I thought perhaps…well, you seem to have enjoyed it this way last time…”

“There wasn't really a last time…”

Thranduil waved his hand dismissively. “You know what I mean. If having me on my knees makes you happy, I am more than happy to oblige.”

Bard chuckled softly. “Oh, it makes me very happy, I assure you. It’s an image that I have thought about many of times…”

The Elf didn't break eye contact with Bard as he began to unlace the other man’s breeches. So intense the heat between them that Bard had to look away, his eyes dropping to his own lap as Thranduil finally freed his cock, and wrapped his hand around the hard length. Bard’s eyes darted back to Thranduil’s face, but the Elf was focused on the bowman’s cock as well, and Bard almost moaned when Thranduil actually licked his lips in what Bard assumed to be anticipation.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Bard sighed, as the Elf began to stroke his cock, his thumb rubbing over the head, already wet and dripping.

“You’re large…for a Man that is.”

Bard swallowed hard. “You've…you've been with Men?” It was hard to get words out. That nimble hand working his cock was very distracting.

Thranduil shook his head. “No…but others have. It doesn't happen often…but I've heard they are disappointing more often than not…”

Bard groaned. “This seems to have taken an unfortunate turn…”

Thranduil laughed, his eyes still focused on the cock in his hand. “Not at all. I was just saying you were large…these things are good to know before…”

“Before…?”

“Yes. Before. Before we fuck. I can’t wait to feel that big cock filling me up…”

Bard moaned loudly, and with that Thranduil’s head dipped and he took Bard almost wholly into his mouth. Bard gasped, trying hard not to buck his hips as Thranduil’s tongue worked the underside of his cock. The Elf was taking Bard’s whole length into his throat with every down stroke, and Bard wasn't sure how much longer he could hang on.

Thranduil pulled Bard’s cock out of his mouth with a sloppy, wet sound. His face was flushed and his lips wet and swollen from the friction, and Bard had never wanted to fuck someone so bad in his entire life...

“You love sucking my cock, don’t you?” The words were out of Bard’s mouth before he even realized what he was saying. He was horrified…embarrassed beyond belief. He had never spoken to his wife like that…he started to stutter out a apology, when to his astonishment, Thranduil locked eyes with him and said:

“I want you to fuck my mouth until you cum.”

That was almost enough to put Bard over the edge. He grabbed a fist full of the Elf’s hair, and brought his head back down onto his cock. Thranduil enthusiastically took Bard deep into his throat again, and moaned around Bard’s rigid cock and Bard thrust hard into his mouth over and over again. This pace, coupled with Thranduil’s words a few moments before were too much. He was pulling the Elf’s hair hard as he fucked himself into that willing mouth, and the hum of Thranduil’s moaning around his cock was too much.

“I'm going to...I'm…” Bard didn't get to finish before his load was throbbing into Thranduil’s mouth. He groaned, his body clenching as Thranduil eagerly licked and sucked Bard’s cock clean.

Bard’s head dropped against the cushions, his hair damp with sweat. He felt the settee shift next to him as Thranduil set down next to him. Bard cleared his throat. “I'm sorry if…if any of that was unacceptable. Or made you uncomfortable. I just got a little carried away…it’s been awhile.”

Thranduil laughed, leaning his head against Bard’s shoulder, and taking his hand. “Oh, I guarantee that it’s been longer for me.”

“Oh I never…should I…am I supposed to…?”

“No, no. It’s fine.” He said with a chuckle. “I wanted to! No obligation. I know this is all pretty new for you.”

“I didn't…hurt you, did I?”

“No! It takes a lot to hurt me. Elf, remember? Physical pain is the not the same for us. It could be quite fun for us, I think…”

“Don’t get me going again…”

“I've been thinking…maybe sometime you could come to visit the kingdom…the kids are more than welcome to come to, of course. I was just thinking that it might be nice to spend the night together…whenever you are ready, that is.”

Bard smiled, planting a kiss on the top of Thranduil’s head. “I would like that very much.”

“I should go though…it’s late. You’re little ones will be up early, I'm sure.”

“Yes, too early for all the wine I've had.” Bard squeezed Thranduil’s hand. “You mean the world to me. Thank you for being patient with me through this.”

“Of course. I've waited thousands of years to find you…I won’t ever do anything to lose you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I toyed with whether I would have anything happen sexually between these two for awhile yet...Frida did only pass a few months ago. Hopefully this wasn't too quickly for ya'll...mostly I just wanted to write Thran on his knees and Bard talking dirty ^-^


End file.
